The Broken Prophecy
by ShoutFinder
Summary: Where is our hero? Where is the Dragonborn? The dragons have come and nobody has arisen to protect us...a Khajiit woman is slaughtered in Helgen by Alduin's flames before Ralof's eyes. Too late does he realize she was meant to be the Dragonborn. But even if the world dies around him, he has sworn to himself that he, somehow, will avenge her death.
1. The Unprophecized Death

_Author's Note: Greetings, readers! This is ShoutFinder. Some of you may know me to be the author of The Huntress. This is an idea which suddenly came to me on a hot summer's afternoon. Please read, review, and tell me what you think! (Give me the name of a character you'd like to see somewhere in the story via review, and I'll see if I can include him/her in!) This story does NOT star Alyssa. This is set in an alternate universe of Skyrim where the Dragonborn is, or would have been, a Khajiit named Ja'kira._

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_CHAPTER ONE: THE UNPROPHECIZED DEATH_

"Next—the cat!"

The cry of the captain rang through the air, in the grim silence that had followed since the death of his fellow Stormcloak. Ralof, confused, shot a quick glance at where the young Khajiit maiden, who had introduced herself as Ja'kira, stood. Her eyes were round with surprise and fear.

_Why me?_ Ralof could almost hear her words echo in his mind.

But before she could move—before anyone could move—the same roar that had echoed around the mountains before the Stormcloak's death returned, though it was louder, and it was darker than before. Ralof shivered. Whatever was making that dreadful sound...he hoped it wouldn't come to Helgen.

"There it is again," said Hadvar, frowning with confusion. "Did you hear that?"

_Hard not to,_ thought Ralof.

The captain spun around and fixed Hadvar with a glare. "I said. Next. Prisoner."

_So on with the executions, then,_ Ralof thought wearily. He glanced sympathetically at Ja'kira. Her eyes were lowered. She seemed to have accepted her fate. All eyes were trained on the young Khajiit now.

Hadvar turned to her, and in a quiet voice, he said, "To the block, prisoner. Nice and easy."

Ralof half expected the Khajiit to turn and flee up the road as that horse thief Lokir had done. But she snapped her gaze sharply up, and Ralof saw that her eyes were filled with determination. Silently, she walked forward, her head held high, ready to die.

Ralof couldn't resist a small smile. So this Ja'kira character had guts, unlike many of her kinsfolk. She was walking literally into the jaws of death and she refused to show any more fear than she previously had. He couldn't help but feel a small flash of respect for her. What a Stormcloak she could have made! Throwing a glance at his captured leader, Ralof saw, to his surprise, that Ulfric was staring at Ja'kira with a mixture of respect and sadness in his eyes, too.

Gaining Ulfric's respect was a hard thing to come by. Ralof's own for Ja'kira increased.

The Khajiit woman paused, facing the block, waiting for the captain to force her to her knees, to lay her head across the block. The headsman stood silently, surveying the Khajiit with his one good eye. Hadvar was gazing at Ja'kira, and he looked regretful. General Tullius observed her with indifference. The captain moved behind the Khajiit, and pushed down hard on her shoulder.

Ja'kira let herself fall to her knees. The captain's boot pressed down on her back, forcing her to rest her head across the already bloodstained block. Her eyes stared at the man who would be the bringer of her death. He observed without much interest, curling his fingers tighter around the hilt of his axe.

And then suddenly the peace of the morning was shattered as the roar returned. And this time, Ralof heard it much, much more clearly than before. Everyone did. Everyone looked up, in time to see a black shape break away from the mountains.

Screams rent the air. Ralof's eyes widened as he watched the creature wing its way high over the mountains, and fix eyes red as blood upon Helgen.

"What in Oblivion is that!?" roared Tullius.

"Sentries!" shouted the captain. "What do you see?"

The creature suddenly whirled up and into the low clouds, out of view. One of the sentries helpfully pointed this out. Ralof suddenly remembered Ja'kira. His eyes flashed down to the Khajiit, and realized that the executioner was already lifting his axe.

And then suddenly the world shook and spun as the black creature exploded from the clouds, slamming down onto the tower just behind the courtyard. Everybody staggered. A few, including the executioner, lost their balance completely. And as Ralof straightened, he felt his own eyes widen in his skull, as he took a good look at the creature.

It was black as night, with scales that looked to be as hard as steel. A shadowy aura seemed to cloak the creature, from its huge maw to its large tail. Its entire body was studded with black spikes and huge curving horns lined its face. Massive wings wrapped around the tower, and with a ravenous air, the creature gazed around Helgen, and its frightened inhabitants.

It was the captain who cried out.

"DRAGON!"

The archers readied their arrows. All around, Ralof saw swords being pulled from the scabbards of the Legionnaires. The executioner struggled to his feet. And Ja'kira, who still lay on the block, was still, paralyzed with fear. Ralof knew she was terrified; her tail was all bushed out.

And then the dragon reared its head, and roared.

But it was a different kind of roar. It was a roar that didn't seem to speak, and yet spoke. Because the sky above suddenly began to swirl. Clouds spun wildly in a frenzied whirlwind above the city, and fiery rocks spun from the core of the swirling whirlwind, slamming down into the city. The screams intensified as two fiery boulders smashed into the carts. One of the horses broke free of the damaged harnesses, turned tail, and fled into Falkreath forest. Its companion was not so lucky. The horse that Hadvar had been riding now reared in terror as a fiery stone crashed into the ground just beside it, blowing it off its feet. It fell and did not rise.

One of the stones also slammed into the courtyard, and the executioner was killed. His weapon, from the force of the blow, spiraled across the courtyard, and thudded next to Ralof's feet.

People were fleeing and screaming. Even the archers, as they desperately tried to avoid the falling burning stones. Ralof ducked down and sliced through his bonds quickly with the edge of the axe, and called, "Jarl Ulfric! Over here!"

Ulfric Stormcloak picked himself up off the ground where he had been knocked off his feet, and heard Ralof call to him. Ralof picked up the heavy blade and ran to free his Jarl, slicing through his bonds as easily as a warm knife through cheese.

"Go!" Ulfric roared, throwing away his bonds and gag, and seizing the handle of the axe. "Find a weapon and get into the tower!"

Ralof spun around. _What about Ja'kira?_

The dragon, in those few short seconds it had taken for total chaos to unfold, had turned its wavering red eyes to the Khajiit. Realizing what it was about to do, she desperately tried to rise. Hadvar, weapon unsheathed, ran towards her, maybe to help her stand. But in an instant, the dragon roared once more, and what Ralof could only describe to be force solidified exploded from its jaws, slamming straight into her.

She flew off the block, crashed onto the cobblestone, and lay still.

_No!_ Ralof started towards her.

"Ralof! Catch!"

Ralof spun around, to see one of his fellow Stormcloaks suddenly toss him an axe. He caught it mid-air. Ulfric and several others were already making their way to the watchtower, which had been left unguarded. He began to follow them, and remembered Ja'kira. What about her?

He turned back and raced to her side. Though blood pooled from a gash to her head, she was feebly stirring, trying to grasp her senses. She was alive!

"Hey, Khajiit! Get up!" Ralof shouted. "Come _on!_ The Gods won't give us another chance!"

Her eyes fluttered open. "R-Ralof?" she rasped hoarsely.

Gods, she was in a mess. Ralof saw her desperately try to stand. As she stumbled, the blood running faster down her face, he quickly ran towards her and steadied her, helping her stand fully. "Lean on me," he instructed.

A blaze of fire shot past Ralof's vision, crashing down into what once had been Vilod's house, instantly setting the whole place ablaze as the wood smashed and splintered. High above, the black dragon circled, ready to swoop down and slay the survivors.

"This way!" Ralof shouted, half-pulling Ja'kira towards the tower. Ulfric stood in the doorway. Ja'kira at first was senseless, but then she began to run alongside him, though her eyes were glazed. She was still stunned, and Ralof honestly couldn't blame her. Even though the fiery stones slammed down around them, they managed to get to the doorway. Ulfric pushed both of them in and slammed the door shut behind them. The sounds of the chaos outside were muffled a bit.

Ralof helped Ja'kira to the nearby stairs, where she sat down. Taking out his axe, he grabbed her wrists and cut her bonds.

"Thank you," Ja'kira whispered hoarsely, looking up with glazed eyes at Ralof, though he saw, to some relief, that they were beginning to clear.

Ralof turned around. Ulfric stepped away from the barricaded door.

"Jarl Ulfric!" Ralof left Ja'kira's side and approached his Jarl. "What is that thing? Could the legends be true?"

What else could that creature be?

Ulfric turned around, frowning, and said, "Legends don't burn down villages."

There was suddenly a sound like Kynareth Herself was outside, and then the tower trembled ominously as the dragon...or whatever it was...whirled overhead, letting out a deafening roar. The stones trembled as suddenly a gout of fire slashed at the stones beyond, and a rain of dust fell from the ceiling.

"We need to move...now!" Ulfric shouted, sensing danger.

Ralof spun around. Two of his fellow Stormcloaks were lying against the wall, with burns and gashes to their chests and arms. Another Stormcloak knelt beside his comrade, assessing his wounds. But none of them seemed to be in a fit state to move.

"They just need a moment to rest, Jarl!" said the Stormcloak, turning around to answer Ulfric's shout.

"We don't have a moment," growled Ulfric. He turned and said to Ralof, "You and the Khajiit woman, go on ahead! Davund's already upstairs trying to clear the fallen rubble."

Ralof nodded, and glanced back at the Khajiit. She had pushed herself somewhat unsteadily to her feet, and though the gash on her head from her fall onto the cobblestones looked nasty, her eyes were clear and focused again. He approached her and said, "You with me?"

Ja'kira nodded, her eyes round with terror, but also with determination.

"Then this way, friend." Ralof hurried up the stairs, with Ja'kira right on his heels.

Sure enough, at the top of the stairs, several large boulders had fallen in front of the rest of the staircase. Davund crouched near them, heaving with all his strength one of the boulders. Seeing Ralof and Ja'kira, he gestured to the stones and said, "We just need to move some of these rocks!"

"Let me help you." Ralof ran forward.

But suddenly he heard Ja'kira shriek a warning, and felt something pull against his armour, dragging him backwards, at the same moment a huge black head thrust its way through the solid rock, sending most of the wall crashing against the platform, bowling Davund off his feet, and narrowly missing Ralof.

He staggered, nearly falling back down the stairs, and stood stone-still in utter terror as he saw the head of the creature barely a few metres away from his own. Ja'kira kept pulling him, back down the stairs, out of immediate sight of the dragon.

_What about Davund?_ Ralof wanted to shout, but there was no time. The dragon's jaws opened, and it growled a terrible word. The rest were lost as a jet of burning flame shot from its jaws, scorching the stones and Davund into practically cinders. The dragon closed its maw and fell away from the tower, though it was several moments before Ralof and Ja'kira dared move again.

They climbed up onto the badly-scorched platform. Davund was dead. And Ralof realized he would be too, if not for Ja'kira. He glanced gratefully at the Khajiit. "I owe you my life, friend," he said. Ja'kira merely blinked.

"We are all in danger here," she said. "We must help each other."

Her voice...it didn't contain that husky note that most Khajiit spoke with. It was clear and strong. Ralof nodded his thanks, and approached the gaping hole in the wall which the dragon had made. Below, he could see that inn that the carts had passed by, right beside the watchtower. Part of the roof had fallen in, but the upper platform was still mostly intact.

"See that inn on the other side?" Ralof demanded. Ja'kira nodded fervently. "Jump through the roof and keep going."

Ja'kira glanced somewhat uncertainly at Ralof, her ears flicked forward in surprise. But Ralof knew that it was the best way for her to get out of here. She had a chance by herself; she looked pretty much recovered now. And Ralof still had to help his own comrades.

"Go!" he insisted. "We'll follow when we can!"

Ja'kira nodded determinedly. She took a step back from the edge of the broken wall, and then with speed that surprised even Ralof, she raced to the edge and pushed herself off. Ralof watched as she descended with astonishing accuracy through the roof of the damaged in, rolling to absorb the impact. She straightened and glanced uncertainly back up at the tower. Then, she turned and fled.

_Well, that's Khajiit acrobatics for you,_ Ralof thought, knowing he probably wouldn't be jumping that far in his entire life. He turned and ran back down the stairs, where one of the Stormcloaks was straightening up at last, though blood still fell freely from a gash in her arm. The other wasn't able to move, and his eyes were already glazed with death.

"Where's the Khajiit?" Ulfric Stormcloak demanded.

"She jumped through to the next building," said Ralof quickly. "She's gone. I said we'd follow; I came back to help my comrades."

Ulfric frowned. "There's no time for that," he said. "We've got to get into the keep; this tower is going to crumble down around us, by the way that dragon stuck his head through. Ralof, go ahead and get into the keep. There are still some of our number trapped down there."

"What about you, Jarl Ulfric?" Ralof asked.

"I'm going to stay and see if I can get Havjun back to his feet," Ulfric responded crisply. "I'm not leaving any breathing Stormcloak behind."

Ralof nodded, and headed towards the door. _There's no way I'm going to do what that Khajiit did._ But as he removed the barricades and threw his weight against the door, it wouldn't budge. Something shifted slightly outside.

"Bloody hell!" Ralof shouted in panic. "Something's jamming the door!"

"Then step back, boy," Ulfric said impatiently. Ralof did so, and Ulfric, taking in a deep breath, summoned the Thu'um.

"_FUS – RO DAH!_"

The next moment, there wasn't a door anymore. It had been blasted clean off its hinges as well as the large amount of fallen rubble that previously had blocked the door. "Go!" shouted Ulfric, slightly hoarsely, turning back to help his soldiers.

Ralof pulled out his axe and shot back out into the blazing city. Everything was burning. Smoke spun up into the sky. The Imperial soldiers stood on the tops of the keep's walls, their attention fully devoted on the black dragon. Glancing towards it, he saw it crouching on the roadside, torching an injured man alive. Sickened, Ralof turned away, unable to watch. Then the dragon spread its wings in flight and shot back up into the air, whirling back into the smoky clouds.

_Where's the damned keep?_ Ralof ran forwards, heading back towards the courtyard, nearly stumbling over the corpse of a Legionnaire. He saw the shadow of it over the walls. A large amount of rubble blocked the way, though it didn't look too difficult to climb over. Behind him, another fiery rock slammed down, throwing Ralof clean off his feet from the force of the blow. Quickly, he scrambled back up, in time to see the huge black dragon suddenly swoop around and land on the lower walls beside the tower. For a moment, it crouched there, tensed, and Ralof heard it belch flames again. Then it took to the air once more, circling high above.

_It'll find me soon enough,_ Ralof thought grimly, as he ran towards the pile of ashy rubble. Sheathing his axe, he began to climb, almost desperately, fearing that soon he'd be spotted. He heard the dragon scream high above, felt the rush of wind brush his armour as the dragon glided towards the tower. Glancing back in concern for Ulfric and his fellow Stormcloaks, Ralof saw the dragon pull up sharply and glide towards the large tower where it first had landed, somewhat carelessly snatching up the Imperial soldier who stood bravely trying to shoot it with arrows. As Ralof finally managed to scale the rubble and tumble down onto the other side, he heard the Legionnaire's desperate scream as the dragon dropped him from high above, and the sickening _crack_ as he struck the ground.

Ralof picked himself up, coughing from the large amount of soot he had disturbed, grabbing his axe once again. If there were any bloody Legionnaires blocking the way into the keep...

But there didn't seem to be. Partially breathless, Ralof began to run towards the nearest...

...only to suddenly see Hadvar and Ja'kira race into the courtyard. Hadvar's weapon, an Imperial sword, was drawn, and Ja'kira had her claws unsheathed. Her eyes fell on Ralof and brightened considerably, her ears flicking forward.

Hadvar noticed Ralof, too.

"Ralof!" Hadvar shouted. "You damned traitor...out of my way!"

"We're escaping, Hadvar!" Ralof snarled, almost not noticing the dragon suddenly glide leisurely above the keep, momentarily throwing the courtyard into shadow. "You're not stopping us this time!"

Hadvar hesitated. Ralof tightened his grip on his axe.

"Fine!" Hadvar spat. "I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!"

His words were demonstrated barely a second after Hadvar had finished. An unearthly scream filled the air, and Ralof spun around to see the dragon swoop down, pick up another Legionnaire, and glide back up into the smoky air, releasing the Imperial soldier, who plummeted, screaming, down to his death.

_Ysgramor's beard!_ Ralof ran towards the nearest door, and Hadvar, to the other entrance. Ralof spun around, frowning. Where had Ja'kira gone? She had been right behind Hadvar a moment ago!

"Ja'kira!" he shouted.

Then he saw her. She had crouched behind a large stone, quivering in her terror of seeing the dragon swoop down to the walls and snatch up a soldier. She looked up. The dragon's eyes suddenly swept downwards, and connected with her own.

"Ja'kira!" Ralof repeated, urgently. "Come on!"

At the same moment, the dragon growled one word: "Dovahkiin."

_Dovahkiin? What the heck is that meant to mean?_

Whatever it meant, the dragon spun wildly in the air, and swooped downwards, talons outstretched. Ja'kira narrowly missed the lethal talons, scrambling over the stone and landing on the other side as the dragon crashed down just behind it, letting out a snarl of frustration. The Khajiit stumbled from the force of its landing. It threw her completely off her feet.

"Come on!" Ralof repeated. He jammed the door open, relieved it wasn't locked, and turned back. "Ja'kira!" he shouted.

She lifted her head at the call of her name, and pushed herself to her feet. Her eyes were focused on Ralof, and she began to desperately run towards him.

But the dragon suddenly emerged from behind the stone, scrambling over it, and letting out a threatening hiss. Ja'kira spun around at the sound, and her ears flattened in terror.

Ralof saw its huge tail suddenly swing around. He had barely screamed a warning before the tail slammed into Ja'kira's back. He watched in horror as the Khajiit was roughly knocked off her feet and sent tumbling over the cobblestones. The dragon snarled in triumph.

_Come on, girl! Get up!_ Ralof hadn't taken a few steps forward before he saw Ja'kira shakily pushing herself to her feet.

And then the dragon's head jerked back. Its eyes gleamed with rage. Ja'kira looked up at the dragon in terror, letting out a scream of fright as she half-lifted her arm in a hopeless attempt to shield herself from what was to come.

"NO!" Ralof shouted, but it was too late. The dragon's jaws parted. The gout of fire spilled out, completely enveloping Ja'kira. Her scream was abruptly cut short. And when the flames ended...she lay, unmoving, terribly scorched, upon the cobblestones.

The dragon threw back its head and let loose maniacal laughter, bellowing, "Faal Dovahkiin los dilon!"

Ralof could only stare at the Khajiit woman's body. She hadn't deserved to die. She hadn't been a Stormcloak. She had been as innocent as any Khajiit traveller could be.

She had saved his life.

And now Ralof felt a blind rage filling every corner of him. He felt his arm move, and he felt his axe leave his hand. It spun through the air, unnoticed by the dragon as it screamed that terrible cry yet again. And Ralof watched as it sunk into the side of the dragon's scaled skull.

Its screams of triumph turned to that of pain. It half-slithered down from the rock, shaking its head violently, reaching up with the joint of its wing to tear the axe from its face. When it turned its attention to who had thrown it, Ralof's breath caught in his throat. He swore that he felt the cool of death enveloping him already. The creature's face looked dreadful. It only had one eye. One was a bloody black hollow. The other was blazing with infinite fury.

Ralof felt himself run. He fell back, racing in through the doorway, as he heard the dragon draw breath. He spun around and slammed the door shut and leapt away from it seconds before the fire slammed into it. The impact caused the upper tunnel to tremble and shake, and Ralof barely saved himself as he raced forward into the centre of the room, before a huge pile of stones and debris fell down behind him, slamming over the doorway.

When Ralof slowly picked himself off the ground, coughing from the dust, he looked back. The doorway was completely blocked.

And all he could hear was silence.

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_A/N: That chapter was intense for me to write. Was it intense for you to read? Please tell me if you liked it!_


	2. The Doomed World

_A/N: Hi again, folks! Thanks for the four reviews for the first chapter! Here is the second one..._

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_CHAPTER TWO: THE DOOMED WORLD_

"This should not have happened."

"I know. But it has. We cannot turn back Time and send her back."

"And nor can we send another Dragonborn down in her place. She was meant to be the one. She failed in her duty."

"No."

Akatosh silenced Julianos and Stendarr with a sweep of his tail. The Dragon God lowered his head, and let out a troubled sigh, drawing back his consciousness from the visionpool, and said, "Alduin knew that the Dragonborn was to come in the Age of his return. How he could have foreseen who the Dragonborn was is elusive to my knowledge."

"How could he know?" Julianos said in frustration, his handsome silver-and-black robes falling around him as he turned away from Stendarr, to look at the despairing Akatosh. "Ja'kira had not even awakened her inner abilities yet! The Dragonborn was in the form of a Khajiit; one of the most unlikely beings to be the champion of the Gods. And yet Alduin still killed her."

"We should have sent her a sign to keep her away from Skyrim's borders," said Stendarr, troubled deeply. "At least until the ambush had moved away from the roads. We should have done something. Now we have failed them. The mortals who looked to us for protection."

"You think that that thought hasn't already crossed my mind?" snarled Akatosh, his fiery eyes growing even brighter. "Now my firstborn son will go on to destroy the world and there can be nobody to stand against him."

He closed his eyes. "If I could, I would send her back. But with Alduin's return, my powers are greatly limited. I cannot turn back Time, the very element I am meant to control. I cannot imprison Alduin in Convexity again, as I have done for Ages."

"You have weakened yourself for these mortals too much, Akatosh, to do any more for them," Julianos insisted, striding across the Pantheon and resting a hand on the red-scaled shoulder of Akatosh. "Your blood in the Amulet of Kings, your light in Auriel's Bow, and a part of your divine spirit in a now-dead mortal. It is no surprise that you have weakened considerably, compared to the other Divines."

Akatosh rose to his full height and glowered at Julianos, who, remembering that he was currently in the form of a wizened and wise old man, and Akatosh was a full-grown dragon, took a step back from his chief deity.

"I will destroy myself if I have to!" roared Akatosh. "Those mortals down upon Nirn, they rely on us Nine to protect them from all dangers. We promised them that a Dragonborn would return to them when Alduin shook loose his chains of Convexity and broke free from the Time Wound. Now the Dragonborn is dead and nobody can stand against the World-Eater. This world will end! Everything that we have created will _die_, Julianos! Including ourselves!"

Julianos, for once outsmarted, lowered his eyes in submission.

Akatosh abruptly turned away from the God of Wisdom and Logic, prowling slowly across the Pantheon to the edges, where he could look out upon the paradise in Aetherius he had crafted for himself, the skies of the cloud-lands, where the spirits of his children could fly free.

"You all know how weakened Talos is," Akatosh said. "The belief that mortals are losing for him, forced to by the foul _fahliil_—" he spat the word with great distaste "—have weakened Talos considerably. When all mortals are dead, the lack of belief will cause all of us to fade. And the new world will dawn when Nirn's soul is devoured."

He turned around and growled to the two other Gods, "So you can understand why I am willing to weaken myself further. If I have to send down another Dragonborn, tear myself completely from Aetherius and destroy myself in the process, then I will do this for the mortals who we are sworn to protect. Wouldn't any of you do the same for the mortals who honour you?"

Julianos and Stendarr exchanged glances.

"You, of all the Divines, Stendarr, should know the feeling of mercy," Akatosh growled. He turned away from the edges of the Pantheon and strode back into the centre, where Julianos and Stendarr stood quietly, waiting for Akatosh's grief and anger to pass. They both knew how strongly he felt for the mortals of the world below them, whose concerns for the mortals matched only Talos's.

But there was truth in Akatosh's words, they realized. With no mortals left to believe and honour the Gods, then all would fade into nonexistence.

"Back to the matter at hand," said Akatosh quietly, seating himself beside Stendarr. "What do you two propose that I do? I will not sit idly by and do nothing for these doomed mortals."

He turned his fiery eyes to Julianos. "You are the creator of both wisdom and logic. What do you propose that I do, Julianos?"

Julianos lowered his eyes in thought. Then, he lifted his head and said, "Your firstborn, Alduin, he will raise the dragons from their tombs and let them unleash their fury on the world. Mortals are doomed. Many will die. That, with the Dragonborn gone, is now inevitable. But perhaps...there is a chance that Alduin can still be defeated."

"How?" Stendarr demanded. "The prophecy is broken!"

"Prophecies can be both fulfilled or broken," Julianos responded. "We still need a mortal champion to assist us, however."

Akatosh snorted. "Our mortal champion is dead."

"I am not speaking about the Dragonborn," said Julianos. "And I cannot guarantee that this will succeed. The mortal will understand nothing. He will be at a great disadvantage, compared to the Dragonborn. But his heart is fueled with vengeance. Though he did not know Ja'kira for very long, he is indebted to her. She saved his life. That is something a Nord honours by returning the favour."

"Of course, he can't, because she's already dead," Akatosh growled.

A small smile came over Julianos's face. "But his desire for vengeance is stronger than his grief for Ja'kira," he said. "We all saw him throw the axe. It cleaved into Alduin's face and tore away half his sight. It is obvious that he is a strong mortal...perfect for this role that I propose."

Akatosh slowly nodded. "That is true. Ralof of Riverwood wounded Alduin when few others could barely touch him. We felt his shock, and then his anger at the injustice of Ja'kira's death. He has a strong soul." He shook his head. "Not strong enough. Alduin can only be destroyed by a Dragonborn."

"I'm not saying that we make Ralof a Dragonborn," Julianos said impatiently. "That would be impossible, and it could weaken you severely, Akatosh, sending a dragon's spirit into that of a living and breathing man. We sent Ja'kira's dragon soul into her before she was even born, and we thought that she would be able to complete her destiny."

"We were arrogant and foolish," sighed Akatosh. "To think that one flimsy two-legged mortal could even survive long enough to accept her destiny."

"Not just a two-legged mortal," said Julianos, with a touch of amusement. "She had a tail, too, and fur, and claws."

Akatosh glared at Julianos, not appreciating the joke.

"So Ja'kira is dead," said Julianos calmly. "That is the truth. There is nothing that any of us can do about it. And Nirn is doomed to die. But isn't everything doomed to die? That is what being mortal is all about. Everything must die sooner or later."

"For the Dragonborn, it was too soon," said Akatosh.

He straightened. "But I understand your words, Julianos. Yes, the Dragonborn is dead. She has failed in her duty. So we must find another way to defeat Alduin—or at least weaken him enough to cast him adrift in the currents of Time again."

"That is impossible," said Stendarr. "You need an Elder Scroll, something that powerful, to throw Alduin back in Time. And it must be done atop Throat of the World."

"Fine." Akatosh lifted his tail in defeat, and let it flop back down onto the floor of the Pantheon. "But is there a way, any way, to at least weaken Alduin?"

"If he receives enough wounds, then he could be driven to a place of refuge," said Julianos thoughtfully. "But no mortal can get close to Alduin. Ralof's blow was a lucky hit. There's no telling, particularly with this bloody civil war tearing Skyrim apart below, that he'll even survive to land another."

"There are no warriors strong enough in Nirn now to stand up against Alduin," said Stendarr despairingly.

Akatosh frowned. "What about Ulfric Stormcloak?" he inquired. "He has the power of the Thu'um on his side."

"Ulfric knows only one Shout that took him years of study to even learn," frowned Julianos. "To teach him Dragonrend would take half a century; by that time, the world might not exist anymore, and Alduin would be too strong to be stopped. And he is busy with the civil war that he has caused with the High King's murder."

"Then the Greybeards," suggested Stendarr. "Masters of the way of the Voice..."

"They believe their ways are of peace," sighed Julianos. "Stupid fools. The Greybeards will be of no help to us; they resent the Scrolls. Paarthurnax cannot Shout such a thing as Dragonrend without severely weakening himself, as he, too, is a dragon."

"It is impossible for Paarthurnax to stand against Alduin now," said Akatosh grimly. "The prophecy states that the brothers will wage war. Now that the prophecy is broken with the Dragonborn's death, they never will fight in the way that we intended them to. The black wings already have come unfurled."

"So who is left to stand?" demanded Stendarr.

"Nobody," said Akatosh, quietly. He shook his head and sighed. "Nobody can stand against Alduin and hope to defeat him. The dragons are being resurrected by his maw as we speak. He destroyed Helgen...his strength is terrible already, and he has only just awakened from his rest."

"However," Julianos said, "we can lure the firstborn of Akatosh into a trap. Do not despair, Akatosh; perhaps we can defeat him. But...it may need the sacrifice of others for it to work."

He glanced uncertainly at Akatosh. "Alduin devours souls of the dead to regain his strength," he said. "He'll use Sovngarde as a place to feed and strengthen himself. Most likely, he'll be searching that plane for the Dragonborn, to make sure that she really is well and truly dead and destroyed. No longer a threat to him."

"How do we know that Ja'kira is even in Sovngarde?" asked Stendarr. "She died before she could even _begin_ her destiny. The heroes in the Halls of Sovngarde may view this as an affront. Tsun may deny Ja'kira entrance, because she did nothing."

"Do you think she asked to die?" growled Akatosh in fury, lashing his tail. "She didn't even know she was Dragonborn. I am certain that Ja'kira is in Sovngarde, because she cannot go anywhere else. Her dragon soul will have guided her there."

He turned away abruptly, letting his consciousness wander to the visionpool, allowing his senses to wander into the infinite realms of the dead. The glories and the lights of Sovngarde revealed itself to his eyes, and he gazed upon the starlit meadows and planes, over the Whalebone Bridge that fell over the abyss, to the mighty Halls. To the meadows where the spirits of men wandered.

And there.

Akatosh saw Ja'kira, slowly walking uncertainly amidst the star-washed grass. Her eyes frantic and terrified. Bright with confusion. She wasn't wearing the rags she had worn when she had died. No, she wore something else. Softer, finer clothes. Clothes woven out of the lightest dragon-scales.

_Has she learned it yet?_ Akatosh wondered. _Has she learned of her true spirit?_

He drew back from the visionpool, letting his senses and consciousness return. "She wanders, lost and afraid in Sovngarde," he said to Stendarr and Julianos. "How do you intend to lure Alduin into the land of the dead?"

"Even though she is dead, yes, and she never will leave Sovngarde, Ja'kira still knows who she is as a Khajiit." Julianos frowned. "Now she needs to be told of who she would have been. And she needs to learn the Shout."

"How?" frowned Stendarr. "How can she learn a Shout if she is dead?"

"She has a dragon soul," Akatosh insisted. "Shouting in the dragon language will be as natural to her as breathing."

Stendarr frowned with puzzlement. "You saw Ja'kira in her Khajiiti form, yes?"

Akatosh nodded consent.

"But if her spirit is that of a dragon...her spirit ascends to Sovngarde, not her body, so wouldn't that mean that currently, there is a dragon walking around in the land of the dead?" asked Stendarr.

"Ja'kira does not know about her true form," Julianos explained quietly. "She never knew that she was Dragonborn. She will need guidance...training..."

"She missed out on all of that because she died too soon," Stendarr frowned.

"However," said Julianos, "she still can be taught the Dragonrend Shout."

"And what good would that do?" asked Stendarr.

Julianos turned to Stendarr. "Alduin _can_ still be defeated," he said. "Ja'kira simply needs to learn of who she is. A mortal needs to defeat Alduin—weaken him enough to get him to go to Sovngarde." Steadily he turned to Akatosh. "He will hunt to replenish his strength. Hunt the souls of the dead. Some may be devoured before Ja'kira is ready."

"Ready?" Stendarr looked skeptical. "You speak as if she is being trained."

"She will be trained," Akatosh said. "I can cross easily through the lands of the dead. It is the lands of the living that stand their barricades to us. Ja'kira may not be the Dragonborn of legend, as she would have been, but she can still help us defeat Alduin."

Julianos nodded. "So you will train the girl, let her know of the destiny she could have had. And what of the mortal champion who will weaken Alduin in the land of the living? Only the Dragonborn could do that. And the dragon armies will rise again. Nirn will be thrown into the shadows beneath the wings of the resurrected and the World-Eater."

Akatosh frowned. "My children are corrupted only by Alduin's darkness," he said. "Death will sweep down on many of them, that is inevitable, with the Dragonborn dead. However...Alduin can still be hurt. Just because the Dragonborn is no longer alive does not mean that Alduin can't be hurt. He just can't be destroyed."

He turned to the other Gods and said, "Julianos, you think that Ralof is the one strong enough to hurt Alduin again?"

"He is driven by vengeance for Ja'kira's unjust death," said Julianos. "As for being strong enough...he is only mortal."

"We will watch him with interest," Stendarr said. "We can do nothing to aid him, however."

Akatosh nodded. "Very well. Inform the other Gods of this."

He spread his huge wings wide. "I will be away to Sovngarde. I pray that your wisdom pays off, Julianos."

"It has not failed us yet, has it?" Julianos inquired, as the chief deity of the Nine Divines lifted himself up and into the swirling white clouds of Aetherius beyond.

High into the skies of Aetherius Akatosh flew. He spread his great wings wide. Light bloomed around him with every movement he made. As the clouds grew misty and grey, he angled his gleaming snout downwards, raised his tail, and snapped his wings to his sides, and he plummeted down from the cloud-covered skies of Aetherius.

All around him, everything darkened, and then exploded in a torrent of wonderous light. Akatosh spread his wings wide, feeling the warmth of the lights red, pale blue, gold and white swirling steadily around him, creating a brilliant sky. He swept downwards, feeling the air grow heavy and cool. Even in Sovngarde, the air was heavy for the spirits to breathe, as they had done in their mortal world.

Soon the starlit fields revealed itself beneath Akatosh. He swooped lower, seeing the beautiful meadows, the great Whalebone Bridge over the seemingly endless chasm that it crossed over, the great Halls across the Bridge, huge, vigilant and grey as ash.

Akatosh leaned forward, letting his gaze wander, as he soared over the valley of the departed, feeling a shiver run up his spine as he saw the souls below look up at him first in fear, and then in awe and amazement. What other dragon besides Akatosh could radiate such beauty, such holy light?

Akatosh's gaze wandered, until he felt the taste of fear bathe his tongue. And not just fear...pure terror. He knew that the intense fear of dragons could only belong to one person. He swept downwards, whirling in front of one lone spirit, who in her fright fled in the shadow of the golden dragon of light.

He swooped around and landed before her. She gasped with shock and fear, falling backwards, raising up one hand to protect her face, as though terrified she was to be slain again. Akatosh gazed at the terrified Khajiit woman, at the way her fur had been bushed out and her ears had been flattened, whiskers pressed flat against her face.

"_Drem_," said Akatosh kindly. "Peace. I will not seek to harm you."

Ja'kira hesitantly lowered her arm, and slowly pushed herself up and onto her feet, staring in fear at the mighty, majestic golden dragon who stood silently before her. His eyes were as fiery as two suns, his body as red and as golden as tongues of flame, and twice as bright.

"Who...who are you?" she whispered.

Akatosh smiled. "To your people, I would be Alkosh, the First Cat. To the people of the land where you walk now, I am Akatosh, the Dragon God of Time."

Now Ja'kira's ears flicked forward. "A...Alkosh?" she whispered hesitantly.

"I can understand your immediate fear for me," Akatosh explained. "When you saw me, you were immediately plunged into the memory of your last moments in the city of Helgen, for I stand before you in my favoured form." He closed his eyes briefly, his fury at Alduin struggling to come out, before he calmly stated, "You were not meant to have died there. You should not have died at all."

Ja'kira flicked her tail nervously. "And why shouldn't I have?" she mumbled. "I was just a Khajiit woman. Sentenced to death. The dragon first saved me and then killed me." Her eyes dilated with terror. "All I remember is being thrown onto my back. Staring up into those two red eyes. Feeling the flames scorch my fur. And then..."

She looked around, confusion evident in her movements, the way that her ears flattened against her head. "I came to this place. I didn't know why I came here. That I would come anywhere. When the others see me, they retreat from me, and stare at me with sorrow in their eyes. I don't understand why, and I don't know where I am."

"You are in Sovngarde, the land where you were destined to go in death, from the moment of your birth," Akatosh explained. "Because you would have had a very unique destiny, young Ja'kira, if you had remained."

Ja'kira glanced at Akatosh and said, "What do you mean, Mighty Alkosh?"

"You would have been Dragonborn in the life that you had," Akatosh said, almost regretfully. "A mortal, born with the soul of a dragon, whose destiny it is to defeat the Nordic God, Alduin, the dragon who ended your life."

Ja'kira's eyes widened. "Me? Dragonborn?" She fell silent for a moment, trying to make sense of Akatosh's words. Then she mumbled, "But what happens now? That dragon...Alduin...I remember the flames ending my life. The darkness that enfolded me when the heat went away."

"Alduin is my firstborn, and whose destiny is to destroy the world, to make way for the new one," said Akatosh. "Your destiny was to defeat him and protect all those who you loved. You died before you could complete that destiny."

Ja'kira flattened her ears shamefully. "I am sorry, Alkosh, that I was not strong enough."

Akatosh lifted his head high and said, "You may be strong enough yet. You know of who you are, your _true_ spirit form. If you are strong enough to be the Dragonborn, to control a restless and reckless dragon spirit for the years of your life you lived, then show me who you truly are. Show me the spirit unleashed."

Ja'kira looked apprehensive for a moment. She took a nervous step backwards. Akatosh quietly waited, not moving nor saying another word. _With a pure dragon soul, she should be able to unleash it over herself,_ Akatosh thought. _We will see if she truly has the strength and the knowledge to_.

Then Ja'kira's body began to glow. She stared at herself in astonishment as she was lost in a dizzying display of an aura of light. Akatosh watched as her Khajiit form melted into the aura of light, which was growing in size, slowly widening and lengthening. And then the aura began to die, revealing in its core a small ashy-grey dragoness, who stood precariously on the ends of her wings and her large feet, whose tail lay heavily behind her, whose head was magnificently crested and horned. Ja'kira opened her eyes and stared at herself in astonishment.

"How is this possible?" she whispered huskily.

"You are ready," said Akatosh. "Your dragon soul is strong. It is time that I teach you in the ways of the _dovah_, the dragon, that you may face Alduin as the Dragonborn you would have been, should you have lived to complete your destiny."

* * *

_A/N: So Aetherius was just my own imagination. I have no idea what it really looks like. Please review if you enjoyed this chapter! In the next chapter, we'll be going back to Ralof's POV, probably for the rest of the story._


	3. Don't Decapitate The Messenger

_A/N: Here we are again, folks! Thanks to everyone who's following the story! If you like it, tell your friends! I want to see how many enjoy this random little plotline..._

* * *

_CHAPTER THREE: DON'T DECAPITATE THE MESSENGER_

Home. What a wonderful feeling it was to finally see home. Ralof finally slowed to a wearied walk, looking around at the town that he had grown up within. Everything was so green and fresh and beautiful, and he could hear the babble of water, the crunching of logs in the lumber mill. Despite everything he had been through, surviving a dragon attack, seeing that Khajiit woman die before his eyes, and then making his way through the crumbling keep, Ralof smiled, relieved that he was home again, and that for now, he was safe.

"A dragon! I saw a dragon!"

Ralof spun around, alarmed, and relaxing as he saw it was only Hilde, pointing erratically up at the sky, panicked. By the hoarseness in her voice, he guessed that she had been at it for at least an hour or two, probably since Ralof finally emerged into daylight in time to see that monstrous black dragon fly over his head, gliding north.

He heard footsteps sound on the road nearby and saw Sven the town bard approach. "What? What is it now, mother?" he said wearily.

Hilde spun around and spluttered at her son, "It was as big as the mountain, and black as night. It flew right over the barrow!"

Sven rolled his eyes. "Dragons, now, is it? Please, mother, if you keep going on like this, everyone in town will think you're crazy." He turned and began walking away towards the Sleeping Giant Inn. "And I've got better things to do than listen to more of your fantasies."

Hilde looked outraged. "You'll see!" she cried. "It _was_ a dragon! It'll kill us all, and _then_ you'll believe me!"

Ralof turned, hearing the whirring sounds of the mill at work. Most likely, Gerdur and Hod would be still working, and he knew that he had to speak to them as soon as possible. She'd probably heard that he and the Stormcloaks had been captured. He crossed over the bridge, feeling the cool spray of the river lightly brush his skin. Ralof's relief for being home only increased. Riverwood was the most beautiful town in the world.

"Ralof? That you?"

Ralof half-turned towards the lumber pile, and smiled in recognition. "Faendal. How are you?"

"Been better," said Faendal dismissively. "But what in Y'ffre happened to _you?_ You look as if you've been through Oblivion and back."

Ralof remembered that he was injured, covered in ash and his armour was pretty wrecked from the constant blasts of heat that his cuirass had had to endure in the flames and the chaos of Helgen. Plus...well...Ralof guessed that his eyes were haunted. He couldn't get the image of that Khajiit woman, Ja'kira, out of his mind. Lifting her arm to shield herself from the bout of flames that destroyed her life.

"I've been through pretty much that," sighed Ralof. "I presume you've heard Hilde?"

"Sven's batty mother? Who hasn't? She began screaming about some dragon about an hour ago."

"I think you'd better start believing her."

Ralof turned away from Faendal and headed around the back of the mill, feeling Faendal's shocked and incredulous stare at his back. Until, at last, after so many years, Ralof finally saw her. His sister, Gerdur. She stood overlooking the riverbank from her workbench.

He approached and called, "Gerdur!"

She spun around at the sound of his voice, and her eyes widened with amazement. "Brother!" She ran forward and Ralof accepted her embrace. "Mara's mercy, it's good to see you."

She pulled away, and said quickly, "But is it safe for you to be here?—"

"Gerdur," Ralof tried to say.

"—We had heard that Ulfric had been captured!" Gerdur gasped.

"Gerdur, I'm fine," Ralof tried to assure her, aware of the weariness in his voice. He finally became aware how exhausted he was. "At least, now I am." And he did feel fine. As long as he was around his family, in his home, he felt that maybe after a wash and some food and drink...very strong drink...he'd be all right.

Gerdur, however, didn't quite believe him. She looked at Ralof and said, "What in Shor's bones has happened to you, Ralof?"

"It's...quite a tale," Ralof responded. "Do you have...some place where we can talk, alone?"

Gerdur hesitated, and then nodded. "Yes, of course. Follow me."

She began to head towards the small isolated bit of land, at the edge of the island where the lumber mill stood, where Ralof remembered he and Gerdur had spent warm summer afternoons attempting to catch the trout that drifted into the shallows of that place. The two huge trees that had acted like sentinels on the bit of land were gone now, leaving only large stumps in their place. Lost in his childhood memories, Ralof almost didn't hear Gerdur shout, "Hod! Come over here! I need your help with something!"

Ralof chuckled as he heard Hod irritably shout back, "What is it, woman? Sven drunk on the job again?"

Gerdur spun around, folding her arms over her chest, and saying tightly and impatiently, "Hod. Just come here."

Ralof saw him grumble for a moment, and then appear at the edge of the lumber mill. And then Hod stared at him as though he'd never seen him before, and gasped, "Ralof! What are you doing here?"

Gerdur mimed for him to be silent, and Ralof could certainly understand why. Alvor the blacksmith's nephew, Hadvar, was in the Legion, and his and Ralof's families had drifted apart when he and Hadvar left to take part in the war.

"Ah..." Hod understood his mistake at once. "I'll...be right down!" He vanished from view, probably to climb down from the mill.

"This way, brother," Gerdur said, and she and Ralof headed towards the huge two tree stumps. Ralof felt the grass crunch beneath his feet, heard the roar of the river as it swirled on either side of the island, and for a moment, he closed his eyes and breathed in the scents of life. Something that he had sorely missed when he had left Riverwood to join the Stormcloaks was the peacefulness of Riverwood.

Then he heard feet patter behind him and he half-turned to see a familiar face, lit up in awe and respect.

"Uncle Ralof! Can I see your axe! How many Imperials have you killed with it? Do you really know Ulfric Stormcloak?"

Everything came out in a rush from his nephew Frodnar's mouth. Ralof chuckled. His eyes drifted to the large dog that followed his nephew. _Well, that's a new member to the family,_ he thought.

"Hush, Frodnar. This is no time for your games," said Gerdur curtly. "Go and watch the south road. Come tell us if you see any Imperials coming."

Frodnar was dissatisfied. "Aw, mama. I want to stay and talk to uncle Ralof!"

Ralof found himself smiling. How long, he asked himself, had it been since he had last seen Frodnar? He couldn't even remember when he had left Riverwood, how long ago he had left his old life behind to take part in the rebellion. But however much time had passed, Frodnar seemed older, even though that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes hadn't disappeared. _Still a troublemaker for Riverwood, I see,_ he commented internally.

"Look at you; almost a grown man!" Ralof said to his nephew. "It won't be long before you'll be joining the fight yourself."

Frodnar proudly nodded. "That's right! Don't worry, uncle Ralof. I won't let those Imperials sneak up on you!" He turned and hurried back across the bridge, with the large dog bounding merrily after him.

The grass crunched nearby and Ralof glanced up to see that Hod had finally arrived.

"Now, Ralof, tell us, what's happened?" Hod demanded. "You look pretty shaken up."

Ralof eased himself down onto the nearest stump, relieved to finally take some of the weight off his feet. "I can't remember when I last slept," he admitted wearily.

Looking up, he saw that Gerdur and Hod had gathered around him, listening intently, so he began. "You heard right. We were ambushed outside Darkwater Crossing and captured. That was..." he frowned slightly. "Two days ago, now."

Memories flashed before his eyes. Memories of suddenly hearing a shout to attack, spinning around, and finding the previously deserted road swarming with Imperials. He had drawn his axe and thrown himself into the fray, but their group was smaller than usual, and they were badly outnumbered. Three of the Stormcloaks were cut down before he could've done anything. Ralof remembered ripping his axe across the throat of the nearest Imperial and spinning around to parry the blow of the second. That was when he had suddenly felt something collide with the back of his head and everything had gone black.

When he had come around, an hour or two later, his weapon, bracers and helmet were gone and his hands were tightly bound, and that he had been loaded onto a cart with Ulfric, who had been gagged as well as bound, so he wasn't able to use the Voice. Four of Ralof's comrades, Havjun, Davund, Srolfreid and Najsa had also been bound and captured, and loaded into another cart.

Then Ralof remembered that a little while later, a plain-terrified horse thief had been loaded onto their cart. Ralof hadn't thought much of him. And then, before they were due to leave, a fourth prisoner of the Legion had been loaded onto their cart. She was unconscious, having received quite a blow to the head. She was also a Khajiit.

Then they had travelled, heading to Helgen. Through all that time, the Khajiit had never stirred, and Ralof was beginning to wonder if she was dead. But whenever he touched her arm and checked for a pulse, he could still feel it pounding. It was only when they were only a few minutes away from Helgen when her eyes fluttered open and she sat up a little.

And now she was dead. Ralof remembered with bitterness the way that she had died. She had been innocent. She had introduced herself as Ja'kira in the cart, and that she had only been journeying to Skyrim to see if she could locate her uncle Ri'saad and join his caravan, as devastation had struck Elsweyr back at home and she had been forced to flee.

But Ralof remembered what the dragon had seemed to call her. Unfortunately, he didn't know what 'Dovahkiin' meant. But what _did_ it mean? Why did the dragon that had destroyed Helgen show such interest in ending Ja'kira's life?

Returning to the present, Ralof went on. "We stopped in Helgen this morning, and I thought it was all over. Had us lined up at the headsman's block and ready to start chopping."

Gerdur stiffened in rage. "The cowards!"

Ralof nodded. "They wouldn't dare give Ulfric a fair trial," he growled. "Treason, for fighting for your own people! All of Skyrim would've seen the truth then..."

He sat up slightly, and said quietly, "And then, out of nowhere, a dragon attacked."

Gerdur paled. "You mean, a real...live...?"

"I can hardly believe it myself, and I was there," murmured Ralof. But now he believed it. The huge black dragon with the glowing red eyes. Well, it only had one eye now. With a touch of pride, Ralof remembered how well he had thrown his axe. It had cleaved the dragon's skull and torn away half its sight. _If I'm able to hurt it, that means it's a beast, like anything else,_ Ralof thought.

"The dragon...killed a lot of people," Ralof said. "A lot didn't make it out. Including..." he hesitated, wondering if he should tell Gerdur and Hod about the Khajiit woman. Eventually he said, "There was this girl on the cart. A Khajiit woman, just in the wrong place at the wrong time. She was completely innocent but the Imperials still wanted to kill her."

"For being a Khajiit?" Hod guessed.

"Probably," sighed Ralof. Really, a lot of people were too superstitious about the beastfolk and the Elves at this current time. He had heard the snide comments Hilde aimed at Faendal on a near-daily basis about his Bosmer heritage. "Despite being innocent, the captain of the Legion ordered her death. She was lying on the headsman's block when the dragon attacked."

"Did she make it out?" asked Gerdur.

Ralof shook his head, remembering with a pang of grief how she had died. Nobody deserved to die like that.

"Was she a friend?" asked Hod.

"She saved my life," Ralof said. "She pulled me back before the dragon thrust its head through the tower wall. I should have helped her. But the dragon..."

He felt a light touch on his shoulder and heard Gerdur murmur, "I'm sorry for your friend. I hope she found her way into Sovngarde."

"A Khajiit, in Sovngarde?" frowned Hod. "Forgive me, but...isn't Sovngarde reserved for Nords?"

"It's reserved for honourable people!" Ralof snapped impatiently. Letting out a wearied sigh, he glanced back at his sister and said, "I got to the keep and made my way through it, killing Imperials along the way. I was lucky I was ahead of the dragon. Tunnels collapsing just behind me...and then there were Frostbites and bears in the catacombs."

"Did Ulfric...?" Gerdur hesitated mid-sentence.

"I'm sure he made it out," Ralof soothed. "It'll take more than a dragon to stop Ulfric Stormcloak."

"Then you must return to Windhelm, and the war," said Gerdur. "But please, brother, you can't go now. You need food, rest...you just survived a dragon attack at Helgen." She frowned. "As much as I'd like you to stay longer here, Ralof, the Jarl of Whiterun needs to know about this. Hilde was screaming about a dragon an hour ago...guess she was right after all." She looked suddenly terrified. "If that beast decides to come back, Riverwood's a box of dry tinder for its flame. Riverwood's defenseless. The Jarl needs to send some guards to help us."

Ralof nodded. "I'll set out in the morning."

"Thank you," Gerdur murmured. She helped Ralof to his feet and said, "You probably just need a bit of cleaning up and some food and rest." Her eyes fell on a gash on Ralof's arm, which he had obtained from the damn bear. "Medicine, too. Hod, go and see if Lucan has any healing potions on hand."

Hod shrugged. "Good to see you again, Ralof." He headed towards the general goods' store.

As Ralof followed Gerdur to her home, he asked her, "Am I really the first to make it to Riverwood?"

"Nobody else has come down the south road, as far as I know," Gerdur replied. "But maybe the other Stormcloaks are already on their way back to Windhelm by now."

"I need to rejoin the war," muttered Ralof. He winced as he felt a dull ache rush up his arm. "Ulfric probably thinks I'm dead."

"You need to prove him wrong, then."

"I'll head out to Windhelm as soon as I've spoken with Jarl Balgruuf," Ralof said. "Though I suspect he probably won't take too kindly to a Stormcloak coming to speak to him in Dragonsreach."

"The Jarl, for now, is neutral," said Gerdur. "He can't just execute you for turning up to tell him about Riverwood's danger, or the dragon, for that matter. In the meantime, I'll run a bath for you and cook dinner while you wash up."

Ralof smiled. It felt good to be worried over by Gerdur again, who had the temper of a sabre cat and the heart of a mothering one.

* * *

"Stormcloak!"

The two guards who stood outside the gates to Whiterun immediately drew their swords and aimed the tips threateningly at Ralof. He rolled his eyes, calmly coming to stand just in front of them, and said, "May I help you?"

"We know why you're here," said one of the guards. "Where's the ultimatum?"

"The...the what?" Still jetlagged over yesterday, Ralof really didn't feel like his head belonged to him at the moment. Then, processing what the guard had said, Ralof frowned and said, "I don't have a bloody ultimatum."

"Then why are you here?" challenged the other guard.

"To give Jarl Balgruuf some news," Ralof responded irritably. "Unless you think that a dragon attack at Helgen isn't important news?"

"A dragon attack?" Confused, the first guard half-lowered his sword. "What do you mean?"

"A dragon destroyed Helgen, you idiot, and I'm on my way to tell Jarl Balgruuf that Riverwood is in danger," snapped Ralof. "Gerdur sent me. If you don't believe me, feel free to trek all the way to Helgen to see the devastation for yourself."

The two guards exchanged glances between them. "You think he's lying?" asked the first guard.

"Maybe not by much," said the second guard. "Remember the flying horror that some of the boys mentioned last night in the barracks? Maybe they didn't just drink too much mead after all. And we did hear some odd noises yesterday midmorning..."

They seemed to come to a decision. The second guard turned to Ralof and sheathed his weapon. "Fine," he said. "You can go in. Dragonsreach is at the top of the Cloud District. Go and speak to the Jarl, but don't even think about trying to get him to join Ulfric's cause. He's already stated quite clearly that he is having no part in this war."

"I'm not here to ask him to join Ulfric's cause," said Ralof impatiently. "I'm here to tell him about the dragon attack, as I said before."

"You even mention the word 'Windhelm' in Whiterun's walls, and I won't hesitate in hauling you to Dragonsreach dungeon myself, Stormcloak," said the first guard, hostility evident in his voice. But he, too, sheathed his weapon and stepped back, allowing Ralof to pass and enter Whiterun.

Ralof remembered that, a couple of times, he had gone to Whiterun to get supplies. He hadn't been a Stormcloak then, just a villager of Riverwood. Now he entered Whiterun, and almost immediately saw someone he had hoped least to see. A Battle-Born, standing near the gates, though his attention was devoted to Adrianne Avenicci, the blacksmith.

"We'll pay for whatever it takes, but there must be more swords for the Legion," Idolaf Battle-Born was saying.

Ralof frowned. _I wonder how he's going to react when he sees me. Knowing a Battle-Born, it could quickly get ugly._

"I just can't fill out an order that size on my own," Adrianne said. She crossed her arms and said, "Why don't you just swallow that stubborn pride of yours and go and ask Eorlund Gray-Mane for help?"

Ralof remembered that the Gray-Manes were Ulfric's biggest supporters in Whiterun, and one of the influential family clans there. Eorlund was also a worker at the Skyforge for the Companions, the best blacksmith in the whole of Skyrim.

"Hah!" Idolaf snorted. "I'd sooner bend my knee to Ulfric Stormcloak."

_You will one day_, Ralof vowed.

"Besides," Idolaf continued, "Gray-Mane would never make steel for the Legion."

_You're damned right he wouldn't,_ thought Ralof. Guessing that he'd rather get to Dragonsreach sooner than later, he started forwards.

"Fine," said Adrianne. "I'll take the job, but don't expect a miracle."

She turned and headed towards her forge. Idolaf nodded once in satisfaction, turned around...and met Ralof's gaze.

Immediately Idolaf scowled.

"Why are you here, Stormcloak?" he demanded.

Ralof paused and folded his arms over his chest. "Mind your own business, Battle-Born."

"Stormcloaks in my city are my business," snapped Idolaf. "You rebellious bastards have caused nothing but pain on Skyrim ever since the High King was murdered. So I'll repeat the question; why are you here?"

"If you're worried I'm going to be launching a one-man ambush on the city, then think again," Ralof said impatiently. "I'm here to speak to the Jarl of Whiterun."

Idolaf scowled. "To deliver an ultimatum? To beg for him to join the Stormcloaks?"

"Neither," Ralof retorted. "Now if you don't mind, I'm heading to Dragonsreach. Go and ask someone else about what happened at Helgen."

He turned and walked off before Idolaf could ask him anything else. _Battle-Borns,_ Ralof thought irritably. _When Whiterun's under Jarl Ulfric's control, he'll have them clapped in irons, those disloyal Legion bootlickers._

He headed up the short flight of stairs and into the Winds District. As he drew near to the courtyard where the skeletal, dead Gildergreen stood, Ralof was sure that he could hear preaching up ahead. _Oh, so old Heimskr's still at it, then?_ Ralof thought to himself in amusement, as he entered the courtyard. The few townspeople and the patrolling guardsmen gave him cautious looks, and Ralof was pretty sure a guard scowled so deeply that he was beginning to wish that he had come into Whiterun a plainclothesman.

To make matters worse, Heimskr saw him as Ralof tried to head up the long flight of stairs to Dragonsreach high above.

"Ah! Ah! So it begins, friends! The Stormcloaks come to liberate the city of the bastard Legion, to smatter away the false beliefs that they only encourage!" Heimskr cried. "Ulfric and his armies will march to free Whiterun, and it begins...with the ultimatum!"

Ralof wanted to tell everyone that he wasn't here to deliver a Gods-damned ultimatum. _Why does everyone think that?_ He wondered. Well, the Battle-Borns would soon all know that there was a Stormcloak in the city. Ralof closed his eyes briefly, completely exasperated, before he reached the top of the Cloud District and crossed the bridge towards the doors of Dragonsreach.

"Halt," said the guard just outside, pulling out his sword.

"Can't I walk anywhere without trying to get stabbed in the gut?" Ralof said impatiently, halting nonetheless. "What is it now?"

"What is your business here in Whiterun, Stormcloak?" the guard asked.

"To tell the Jarl about the dragon attack in Helgen," Ralof snapped. "And before you ask, no, I am _not_ delivering a damned ultimatum. All I ask is to speak to the Jarl in peace so he can learn of the danger that Skyrim is now currently in."

The guard hesitated, thinking this over, before he sheathed his sword and said, "Fine. I'll let you into Dragonsreach, on account that you hand over your weapons."

Ralof hesitated for a split second, before reluctantly drawing his axe and handing it over to the guard. "There; now I'm an unarmed man," Ralof said.

The guard was still suspicious, but he stepped back, letting Ralof enter Dragonsreach.

As the doors thudded shut behind him, Ralof heard voices drone on up ahead. Guessing that the Jarl was in a meeting, but knowing that this matter was probably as urgent as whatever they were talking about now, Ralof continued forwards, climbing the stairs to the main platform. He could feel the hostile glares of everyone staring at him, but he forced himself to ignore them.

The Jarl was in his throne, speaking with his steward, Proventus Avenicci. His housecarl stood protectively nearby. Her crimson eyes flashed quickly to Ralof, and he hesitated as he saw her draw her sword and approach him. Ralof suddenly wished that he had his weapon on hand. He felt very vulnerable without anything but his fists to defend himself with if things got ugly.

"Whatever Ulfric Stormcloak wants of Balgruuf, it can wait, Stormcloak," said the Dunmer woman threateningly. "You wasted your time coming here, so turn around and go back the way that you came."

"I'm not here on Ulfric's business, gray-skin," snapped Ralof, thoroughly fed up. The Dunmer looked affronted but without remorse, Ralof went on. "I highly doubt you'd want to send me away either. I've got news from Helgen, if you must know, and the dragon attack there. Riverwood's in danger. Gerdur sent me."

The housecarl didn't look happy. She sheathed her sword nonetheless and said, "So it's true, then? There really has been a dragon attack?"

"You know about it?" Ralof asked, honestly surprised.

She nodded. "I saw something pass over the city yesterday afternoon. Looked like something out of a nightmare. Huge and black. I swore it had red eyes, too." She paused for a moment, and then said, "Fine. You can speak to the Jarl about what you have to say about...whatever that thing was."

"Thank you."

Ralof was finally permitted to approach the Jarl of Whiterun. Proventus had taken his place at the right of the Jarl's throne, and his Dunmer housecarl at his left side.

"So, Stormcloak," said the Jarl. "It seems that you bring me news other than to try and get me to take sides in this war."

"This may be a little more important than the war at the moment," Ralof said. "There's been a dragon attack at Helgen."

"Has there, now?" the Jarl raised his eyebrows. "And the creature that flew over Whiterun yesterday was this presumed dragon?"

"Yes, actually. If what the gray-skin describes that animal correctly, then it's the same creature that destroyed Helgen."

Jarl Balgruuf narrowed his eyes. "You have no authority to call Irileth that name," he snapped. "Show some respect, Stormcloak. Pray, tell me why you were at Helgen that day?"

Ralof decided to be blunt. _I'll get nowhere by lying._ "I was to be executed."

"I thought as much," said Jarl Balgruuf. "And yet here you are, still alive, and you still have your head. Most impressive."

"The dragon interrupted the execution, however," Ralof said. "It started destroying the place. My comrades and I escaped in the confusion and the chaos. I came to you hoping that you would provide reinforcements for Riverwood."

"And why should I believe the word of a Stormcloak?" inquired Jarl Balgruuf.

_Fair question,_ thought Ralof. "Because if you don't, feel perfectly free to send a cohort of guardsmen to Helgen. See if you can still find someone alive there. And because I didn't escape from Helgen and come all the way to Whiterun to tell you lies."

Jarl Balgruuf the Greater thought this over, and seeing the logic in it, he said, "So you are certain that a dragon destroyed Helgen."

"Of course," said Ralof. "I thought the things weren't real. But they are. That creature destroyed the place and killed many Imperial soldiers, and a few Stormcloaks." With an inward shudder, he remembered Davund, and how close he had been to joining him in Sovngarde. "I saw that creature a little too close for my liking, several times. Particularly when I pissed it off by half-blinding it."

The Jarl looked surprised. "You wounded the dragon?"

"The axe sunk into its head and the dragon screamed with pain, so I guess that I did," Ralof shrugged.

"And you're still alive to tell the story, too," Jarl Balgruuf commented. "Impressive, even by Stormcloak standards. Do you have anything else to tell me about Helgen?"

Ralof shook his head. "That's all, Jarl. Will you send reinforcements to Riverwood?"

Jarl Balgruuf hesitated. Then, he nodded, and turned to Irileth. "Send a detachment to Riverwood at once," he commanded.

"Yes, my Jarl," said the housecarl. As she passed Ralof, she threw him a look that mingled with dislike and respect.

"Proventus," Jarl Balgruuf instructed. "Go back to your duties."

"At once, Jarl," Proventus replied humbly. He threw Ralof a glance similar to the look Irileth had, before turning and heading away further into Dragonsreach. Ralof glanced at Jarl Balgruuf, wondering if he had been dismissed.

Not quite.

"It must take quite a bit of nerve to come into the city wearing that armour, Stormcloak," the Jarl commented. "Not everyone is as dotty as Heimskr over your side of the war."

"I know that," Ralof frowned. "I didn't exactly want to come in here, but I'm not about to let my hometown be burned down by a dragon, either."

"That is true," Jarl Balgruuf conceded. "You also fought and survived against a dragon. You survived an attack in Helgen. I have some level of respect for you, Stormcloak. But it is not enough to remind me exactly why you were in Helgen in the first place." He paused for a moment, and then said, "Tullius was there, wasn't he?"

_That bastard General?_ "Yeah, he was there," Ralof said.

"That meant that Ulfric Stormcloak was there," Jarl Balgruuf added. "I had heard that the leader of the rebellion had been captured in The Rift three days ago. You, I presume, and a band of your rebellious brothers and sisters were with him."

Ralof frowned slightly, and nodded, not liking where this was going.

"You are still a traitor to the Empire," the Jarl said. "And therefore, you should die a traitor. I thank you for delivering me the news about Helgen and the threat the dragon poses. But your usefulness to me is now depleted. Guards, secure him."

Ralof's bellow of outrage was lost as suddenly his arms were wrenched behind him. He struggled, trying to pull himself free from the guards' iron grips, but he suddenly felt a gauntleted hand strike him hard across the head, nearly knocking him senseless as stars flashed across his vision. Ralof slumped in their grip, and slowly looked up at the Jarl, who had straightened and had drawn his axe.

"You snake," Ralof spat. "You've sided with Tullius, haven't you?"

"No," said the Jarl calmly. "I am still neutral. But I can't have the Legion find out that a Stormcloak came into Dragonsreach and walked out of it, because that Imperial hothead will obviously make the assumption. I won't let any harm befall my people."

_Oh, bloody hell, why did I leave my axe with that damned guard?_ Ralof pulled hard against the guards' grip, but he felt a fist collide with his head yet again, and he groaned as blackness swarmed over his vision, lights flashing in his head. All his aches and injuries from the previous day, as well as his combined exhaustion, overwhelmed him, and it was all Ralof could do to stop himself from falling unconscious.

"My apologies, Stormcloak," the Jarl said. Ralof blinked open his eyes and lifted his head slightly in time to see the Jarl of Whiterun pause in front of him, tighten his grip around the hilt of his war axe, and draw his arm back.

Ralof waited for the killing blow to be struck. But it never came. At that moment, he heard a slightly nasally Nord's voice interrupt the execution.

"Wait a moment, Jarl. This Stormcloak could yet prove useful to us."

Ralof turned his head slightly towards the speaker, to see a Nord dressed in blue and gold robes suddenly hurry out of his study.

"Farengar," said the Jarl of Whiterun. "What are you saying? This Stormcloak is a traitor to the Empire, a traitor to Whiterun."

_For fighting to free our own people?_ Ralof thought bitterly.

"Even so," said Farengar, "he fought and survived against a dragon. That should be reason enough for him to assist me in the project. What flew over the city _was_ a dragon. It can't have been anything else. So now I need _it_ more than ever."

The Jarl seemed to hesitate at the Nord's words. He glanced back at Ralof, and seemed to think a moment longer, before he said, "I hope you know what you're doing, Farengar. Fine, then. Fill him in on all the details."

Ralof looked up sharply and said, "What do you want with me?"

Farengar regarded Ralof carefully for a moment, before he said, "I need someone to delve into an ancient ruin in search of something that will prove...invaluable to my research. It's on dragons, as I'm sure you've guessed already."

Ralof frowned slightly. _I'm not a damned mercenary._ But he was sure that if he said this, he'd most likely get executed. This could be a way out. "So what is it?" he asked.

"It's called a Dragonstone," Farengar explained. "It's holed up in Bleak Falls Barrow, most likely in the very last chamber, where it'll be guarded closely by the strongest Draugr."

_Bleak Falls Barrow? You're kidding..._Ralof knew that the huge barrow that overlooked Riverwood was infested with Draugr. The people who entered rarely came out again. It was thought to be the most dangerous Nordic ruin in the whole of Skyrim. _And he wants me to go in there?_

"What will happen if I refuse?" Ralof asked.

Jarl Balgruuf frowned. "Immediate death."

_So I can choose death or death. Wow. What a mess I've gotten myself into._

However, the option of going into Bleak Falls Barrow was that at least he would be armed, and if he was struck down, then he would be struck down as a warrior, rather than a captured convict in the palace of Dragonsreach. Ralof glanced back at Farengar and said, "Fine. I'll go and find your Dragonstone."

Farengar brightened at this. "Excellent!"

Jarl Balgruuf didn't look too pleased at this, but he sheathed his weapon and said, "Guards, unhand him."

They did so; none too kindly, however. Ralof, still stunned by his two blows to the head, fell forwards the moment his arms were released, but he pushed himself back to his feet, and threw a black glare at the guards. "Is this how you treat all your messengers?" he spat irritably at the Jarl.

"This is how I protect my people," Jarl Balgruuf responded calmly, returning to his throne. "You return alive from Bleak Falls Barrow, and with the Dragonstone, I'll consider letting you leave the city again. You die in the Barrow, well, you die. But be warned, Stormcloak; if I hear that you never went to Bleak Falls Barrow, then I will not hesitate in sending the guards to execute Gerdur. Don't think I don't know who you are, Ralof of Riverwood."

Ralof stiffened, realizing that the Jarl really did have him entangled in his spider's web. _I don't seem to have any choice,_ he thought grimly. _The Jarl knows that he's sending me to my death. But I can't let him hurt my family._

_Looks like returning to the war will have to wait._

* * *

_A/N: So Ralof's going to have a special little sub-plot of his own, because it's a been-there-done-that storyline for the Dragonborn. Of course, him being a Stormcloak, it's perfectly natural for the Jarl of Whiterun to mistrust him...eh?_


	4. No Place Like Home

_CHAPTER FOUR: NO PLACE LIKE HOME_

_Well, I've come this far,_ Ralof thought. He stumbled into what he prayed was the final chamber. Briefly dodging a group of bats which descended and fluttered past him in a somewhat panicked way, Ralof came into the next chamber, and paused to lean against a joined stalagmite/stalactite to catch his breath.

Pain immediately throbbed through him as he recollected all the aches and injuries he had picked up throughout the Barrow. The gash to his arm, which he thought had healed up overnight from the healing potion Hod had brought him, had been opened again when a particularly large and nasty-looking Draugr had thrown him hard to the ground. He had a large bruise to the side of his head to add to the pain of the fist-blows he had received in his visit to Dragonsreach, kindly delivered by the hilt of a Draugr sword that had caught him off-balance. A bang to his left knee, granted when he missed a step going down a flight of crumbling stone stairs.

_At least I'm still alive,_ Ralof thought wearily, as he slid his bloodstained axe back into his belt. _I'm still having trouble believing that simple fact myself._

First there had been bandits. At least they could be killed with a strong-enough blow to the chest. There had been a puzzle door. A trio of Skeevers. And a horse-sized Frostbite spider that had nearly killed him when it had managed to close its huge mandibles around his arm and injected a large amount of the poison into his bloodstream. His Nord blood helped him to resist most of the paralytic cold that washed over him, but it had left him feeling pretty sick for a while afterwards.

Then there had been a bandit caught in the spider web who turned out to have stolen Lucan's Golden Claw from his shop down in Riverwood. And since, there had been Draugr, Draugr, Draugr, everywhere in the ruins. Ralof discovered they could only really be killed if their heads parted from their bodies, through an unfortunate sequence of trial-and-error which had nearly resulted in being strangled to death. Save the frost troll which fortunately had needed only a shove off the narrow bridge it was guarding to deal with it.

The claw had proven useful, though. After putting in the combination of bear-fly-owl in the puzzle door and opening it to the next chamber, Ralof had come to where he was currently standing now; in a huge cavernous rocky area where light flooded in from a space in the ceiling, and on a raised stone platform, there was one lone tombstone, a set of urns, and a huge strange kind of semicircle wall.

Ralof straightened now, crossing the short bridge over a rocky stream and climbing a short flight of stairs to the raised stone platform where the urns, tombstone and strange wall were sitting. He frowned as he contemplated the wall. What did it do? Well, it didn't seem to be guarding anything. There was nothing in its semicircle territory. In fact, all that it seemed to do was sit there and display an odd array of carvings.

Puzzled by the carvings, Ralof sheathed his weapon and approached it. Reaching one of them, he gently ran his finger over the grooves.

_They're very smoothly engraved,_ he thought. _Whoever carved these must've been pretty good with a chisel._

He slowly walked around to the next series of symbols, or runes, or whatever the heck they were. Ralof traced his fingers over each one of them. When he came to the rune at his height in the centre, Ralof paused, gazing at it curiously. This one seemed...different, in a way, to the others. How, he wasn't sure. He lightly placed his fingertips on the rune. Everything vanished.

A sudden image flashed before his eyes. An image of...wait a moment, did that person have a _tail?_ The image in his head was very fuzzy, the colours too bright in several places, too dark in other places. The tail of the person was strange...it was fluffy. The person was lean, with two ears on its head. Was that a Khajiit? It was standing in front of the strange wall, and one set of the runes were glowing bright blue, intertwining around her form...because Ralof realized that only a female could have that slight, curved body. Ralof was aware that the strange Khajiit could hear whispering. The vision suddenly darkened until all both could see was the glowing blue rune. And when the shivering colours returned, the light from the runes died, and the Khajiit turned away. Her face was blurred, thrown into shadow. Ralof couldn't see her features. But he sensed that he recognized her.

The vision flickered away from his immediate sight, and everything returned. He became aware that he was still standing in front of the rune...the same rune that the strange Khajiit in his sudden vision had touched, had...had _absorbed_ something from. Uncertainly, Ralof touched the runes again, but nothing happened. The vision didn't come back. He only heard the steady babble of the stream behind him.

_Why did I see such an odd vision?_ Ralof wondered. _And particularly about a Khajiit?_

At that moment, he suddenly heard the tombstone crack sharply behind him. Ralof spun around, drawing his axe in a heartbeat, in time to suddenly see a Draugr clamber steadily out from its tombstone. Ralof gripped the handle of his axe, and took a few steps forward. The Draugr cast burning blue eyes on him, and in a single sweeping motion, it had drawn an ancient blade that shone a strange iridescent blue blade.

The Draugr advanced fearlessly, glittering, shining undead eyes focused upon Ralof. It gave him the chills. He prepared to strike.

But the Draugr paused, a few metres away from him. Its rotting jaws parted.

"_ZUN – HAAL VIIK!_"

The next moment, a sort of greyish force was expelled from the Draugr's mouth, slamming straight into Ralof, who felt a very unpleasant chilling sensation wash over him. At the same time, he felt his axe leave his hand. Shocked, he saw it clatter across the stone and come to rest beneath the rune-wall. He whipped around to face the Draugr again.

_Shit,_ Ralof thought. He knew that it somehow had Shouted. He had seen Ulfric Shout before, summon the Thu'um and send the door to the Helgen tower flying apart. This seemed to be a different kind of Shout, though, a Shout that disarmed whoever was standing at the other end. Now he was pretty sure he was at a serious disadvantage to the Draugr, who currently still held a weapon.

It charged, swinging the sword around. Ralof threw himself to the ground, the blade whirling just above his head. In a flash, forgetting the pains of his former injuries, he jumped back onto his feet, lunging for his weapon. The blade of the Draugr cracked down hard on the stone just behind him.

Diving forward, Ralof seized his axe, flipped back onto his feet, and raised the handle of it in a rapid defense. He staggered from the force of the blow the Draugr gave him. The Draugr hissed with frustration and swept the blade low, hoping to catch Ralof off. He angled his axe down low just in time, carrying off the blow of the sword, though it was enough to knock him back a few steps.

Ralof this time carried the offensive, slamming the axe hard into the Draugr's shoulder. It grunted with surprise, but didn't hesitate in the slightest as it brought its sword swinging up, nearly slicing into Ralof's chest as he leapt away. He knew to aim for its head, after several deadly trial-and-error sessions with other Draugr.

He lunged forward again, sweeping the axe low. He knocked the Draugr clean off its feet, almost severing its leg off. As it fell onto its back with a clatter of armour, Ralof leapt towards it, axe raised high, ready to decapitate the creature.

Then the sword came swinging up with such dizzying speed that Ralof barely got his axe up in time to defend himself. Even so, the strength of the general sword swing was enough to throw Ralof away. He fell onto his back, gasping as the air was knocked from him, but curling his fingers determinedly around the handle of his axe. Stiffly, he pushed himself to his feet, to see the Draugr doing the same, completely untroubled by the two gashes Ralof had previously dealt to it.

Ralof prepared to charge. But what happened next was something he should have expected, and instead falsely hoped it couldn't do.

The Draugr lowered its weapon, and roared a very familiar Shout, one that he had seen before. "_FUS – RO DAH!_"

Ralof barely had time to curse as he saw the solid blue force explode from the Draugr's mouth. There was no time to move. The next moment, he had been thrown backwards, feeling as though a boulder had crashed into him. Then Ralof felt himself collide with the wall and felt something crack, and intense pain scorched up his leg. Then he had fallen forwards, crashing heavily down onto the ground, and the burning pain in his broken leg only intensified.

He couldn't move. He couldn't even scream. Every part of him ached from the full blown force of the Shout. Ralof had seen the complete power of the Thu'um, of that particular Shout, from Ulfric, more than once. But not once had he fully appreciated the taste of its power. He heard his weapon clatter down to the ground nearby but he couldn't summon the strength to reach for it. All that he was aware of was his senses beginning to darken, maybe from the shock of being blown backwards into the rune-wall or whatever it was.

He heard the footsteps of the Draugr approaching him, and feebly he tried to move, tried to reach out for his axe. Everything kept shuddering in and out of focus.

Then a shadow overtook his vision, and a hand that was as cold as ice closed around his throat with the strength of a dragon's bite. Ralof gasped, trying to draw breath. He was dimly aware of being lifted clean off the ground and held at arm's reach, one-handed, by the Draugr. It let out a soft growl, and its grip tightened around his throat.

Everything was spinning wildly and blurred how. He couldn't see, couldn't breathe. He grabbed the Draugr's wrist and tried to pull it free from his throat, but it was like trying to move a mountain. Out of the corner of his darkening and blurring vision, Ralof saw its blade slowly being lifted, and any moment, Ralof was certain that it was going to slice through him, snatching away his life.

Total desperation flooded through him, and a burst of adrenalin, at a final effort at life, gave Ralof strength. With his good leg, he swung it up, and kicked out as hard as he could, and felt it connect with the Draugr's hip. It was forced to stagger, its grip loosening enough around Ralof's throat for him to wrench its cold bony fingers away from his neck. He fell to the ground, and Ralof gasped for air, and greedily he sucked in over and over as he felt life slowly trickle back into his body, chasing away the darkness that had been gathering at the edge of his vision.

Then he heard the Draugr snarl nearby and Ralof spun around. Everything was still blurry, but he could clearly see the Draugr leap towards him, blade pulled back. Adrenalin shot through Ralof and he rolled to the side, and the blade cracked down on the rock. The Draugr spat with frustration, wrenching its blade up again, hobbling unevenly towards Ralof.

He came to a stop against the base of the tombstone. Ralof saw the Draugr approaching him, and he felt his hand knock against something. An urn! Without thinking twice, he grabbed it and flung it with all his might at the Draugr's head. It smashed into its chest and, winded by the blow, it fell back a few steps as a cloud of ash obscured its vision.

Ralof pushed himself shakily into a standing position and looked around, searching desperately for his axe. Where had it landed? He winced as he felt the burning pain in his broken leg intensify. The Draugr let out a hoarse croak and stumbled towards him again, weapon ready, at the same moment Ralof saw where his axe was, the light glinting on the edge of the blade.

Ralof didn't relish the thought of throwing himself across the platform, risking breaking his ribs and/or his jaw in the process. But it was either that or be stabbed to death by an enchanted weapon held by a walking zombie. He didn't need to convince himself again. He threw himself forward as the blade swished through the air behind him, and he felt the back of his azure cloak rip from the weapon as it slashed through it, and rattle against his chainmail, though fortunately it didn't seem to pierce the skin. Ralof felt himself crash down on the stone, wincing as he felt his broken leg slam hard on the rock. But at the same moment his hand thudded against the handle of his axe. He wrapped his hand heavily around it and flipped onto his back as the Draugr loomed over him, blade poised above his heart.

Instinct acted. Ralof had done it before, out of fury. This time, he did it out of desperation. He flung his axe with all his might at the Draugr's head, and heard the sickening _crunch_ as the blade bit into its skull.

The Draugr gargled with surprise, its weapon slipping from its grip. It took one step backwards, and then it died, crumpling onto the rock in a jumbled heap of rotted flesh, bones, and rusted armour.

Ralof stayed where he was for a moment, breathing heavily, hardly believing that it was over, that the Draugr was dead. Then, he rolled onto his back, gasping as pain and relief overwhelmed him. Darkness swarmed at the edges of Ralof's vision, and he found that he couldn't resist such tempting peacefulness.

* * *

When Ralof jerked awake, he was immediately aware of the immense pain that he was in. Letting out a grunt of effort, he slowly rolled onto his front, slid his right knee underneath him, and pushed himself shakily into a one-legged standing position. Almost at once he staggered, his world spinning, and he fell back, one hand flailing out and catching the edge of the rune-wall for support.

For a moment, he stayed in that position, breathing deeply, trying to grasp his flickering senses. When he was certain that he'd be able to stand up straight this time, Ralof lowered his arm from the wall. Everything swam back into focus. It didn't stop the pain, though. Every inch of him ached, and the more concentrated areas of pain were enough to make Ralof wish he had died.

_What I'd do for some kind of pain relief right now,_ Ralof thought grimly.

He staggered forwards, wincing as his broken leg protested painfully, until he stood over the corpse of the Draugr. Ralof leaned forward and tugged the axe from its head, and it made a disgusting sucking sound as he dragged it from its skull.

"Charming," Ralof muttered to himself, wiping it on the Draugr's rusted armour before he slipped it back into his sheath. He turned around, remembering what he had even come into the bloody ruins to find. Seeing the cracked tombstone, Ralof guessed that whatever that Draugr had been, it had been guarding something precious.

He had a hunch, and it was proved correct as he limped to the side of the tombstone and looked within, to see a very large brownish slate of rock lying at the base of the coffin. He leaned forward and picked it up. It was fairly heavy. As Ralof studied it, he saw that it seemed to be a map of Skyrim. Small carven diamond-shaped grooves were engraved in several areas of Skyrim, dotting the surface of the Dragonstone.

_What's this thing meant to be for again?_ Ralof shook his head, wondering what exactly was going to happen to him when he finally returned to Whiterun._ Let's see...will I be executed anyway? Used as a puppet and then thrown out again? Or will the Jarl actually stick to his word?_

He winced as he half-turned around, and the aches of his time in the Barrow returned. _Well, first thing's first...I think I'd better head back down to Riverwood and give Lucan his claw back. Maybe he'll have another healing potion on hand._

Ralof took a step forward, and immediately stumbled, almost falling forwards, feeling the pains in his leg only grow. A wave of nausea washed over him, and Ralof cursed. _Shit. Now how am I going to get out of here if I can't bloody well walk?_

He sat down on the edge of the tombstone and cleared his head. He needed to think.

* * *

"Never again," Ralof told himself. "Never—ngh—_bloody _hell—again."

Riverwood finally came into view. Ralof halted to catch his breath, leaning heavily on the staff that he had found amidst the ruins, in a hidden chest behind the strange rune-wall, which had helped him to walk. Several healing potions found on the corpses of earlier bandits had helped replenish some of Ralof's strength and healed several of his wounds, but his broken leg was still a concern of his. It needed a stronger healing potion to be able to mend it.

It was nightfall, which didn't surprise Ralof. He wouldn't have been surprised if it had actually been several days since he headed up to the Barrow. He could see the glowing lights from the windows and the lit torches from the guards. _Seems that the Jarl of Whiterun kept his word about _one_ thing, at least,_ Ralof thought, as he headed down the last part of the track and over the bridge.

One of the guards, who was patrolling over the archway that led into Riverwood, looked down, holding his torch high to illuminate his surroundings. Ralof glanced up as the guard said, "Well, if it isn't the Stormcloak."

There was a familiar note to his voice.

"Didn't we already meet?" Ralof inquired, coming to a halt.

"Outside the city walls," the guard commented. "I was against you going in. Then I heard that you were the new protégé of Farengar, though you were pretty close to getting executed by the Jarl himself."

Ralof frowned as the guard added sarcastically, "I wonder why."

"And yet here you are, still a guard, still guarding," Ralof retorted. "Have you actually ever had to raise that sword in combat before? And then against who? Petty thieves? Drunkards who refuse to leave a tavern?"

"Watch your tongue, Stormcloak," said the guard. "This may be neutral ground but you aren't the apple of the Jarl's eye. Show any disrespect and I won't hesitate to run you through." The guard was silent for a moment, and then commented, "So where did he send you? Must've been pretty gruesome if you're limping."

"Bleak Falls Barrow," said Ralof.

"The Barrow, huh?" The guard sounded unimpressed. "So you survived," he added, sounding almost disappointed. "Pity. We could've survived without another rebel strutting around the Hold. I presume that you have it, then?"

"Of course I bloody well have it," Ralof said irritably. "Which reminds me; I should be getting home, not standing around in the middle of the night talking to a sarcastic guard."

"Why aren't you heading to Whiterun?" asked the guard, voice sharp with suspicion.

"Does it look like I'm in a bloody fit state to travel!?" Ralof snapped. "I'm heading there in the morning, after I've sorted a few things out in Riverwood."

The guard was silent for a moment, before saying, "Fine. But if you're not in Riverwood tomorrow, you can be sure your sister will get the sword."

Ralof didn't respond to this foreboding statement as he limped beneath the archway and entered the peaceful town. He was sure that he would probably be the only one awake by now. He hoped that Gerdur's house would be unlocked.

But he was aware that as he headed slowly towards her cottage, he could hear voices, raised in anger, though the words were muffled. Ralof half-turned towards the sound. It seemed to be coming from the general goods store.

_They're still awake?_ Puzzled, Ralof headed towards the shop.

The door was ajar. As Ralof gently eased his weight against it, the voices grew louder and clearer, and Ralof recognized the voices of both Lucan and his sister, Camilla. They seemed to be shouting at one another.

"Well, one of us has to do something!" shouted Camilla.

Ralof opened the door fully and stood in the doorway as Lucan leaned across the counter and jabbed his finger angrily into the wood. "I said NO! No adventures, no theatrics, _no thief-chasing!_"

"Well, what are you going to do about it, huh?" snapped Camilla, folding her arms tightly over her chest. "Let's hear it!"

Lucan stiffened in anger. "We are _done_ talking about this!"

Then his gaze flashed towards the door, and it widened with surprise.

"Ralof?" he said, dumbstruck.

"Hi," said Ralof. "Sorry if I intrude. But I thought you might want this back." He pulled the Golden Claw from his belt and held it pointedly up.

Camilla gasped with surprise, and hurried forward. Ralof gave it to her, as Lucan spluttered with amazement. "How'd...how'd you find it?" Lucan stammered, staring at the Stormcloak in near-disbelief.

"The bandits went locally—to the Barrow," Ralof said, wincing as he shifted his position slightly to shut the door behind him. "And I was just progressing through it when I, uh, obtained it from the thief. He won't have any need of it anymore."

"You went into the Barrow?" Camilla gasped, as she set the claw down on the tabletop.

"I didn't...have much of a choice," Ralof admitted. _It was either that, die, or have my sister executed._ "But I don't need it anymore, either, so it's yours. But I'm not going to go and find it again if it's stolen."

"There's no need; I won't let it get stolen again!" Lucan said. "I didn't know that you were in town. But I did notice that Gerdur seemed a bit happier lately. And that Helgen had been destroyed by a dragon. A _dragon!_ Seems like Hilde wasn't lying when she said that a dragon flew over the Barrow in the end, huh?"

He ducked down behind the counter for a moment, and straightened again, a large coin pouch in his hand. "Here, Ralof. For your efforts in finding the claw again—no, I insist!" He pushed the pouch into Ralof's free hand. Wordlessly, Ralof nodded and slipped it onto his belt.

"You wouldn't happen to have any more health potions on you, would you?" Ralof asked.

"Hmm...depends," said Lucan. "What strength do you want?"

"The strongest you've got."

Lucan looked surprised, but he didn't argue. He vanished down into his cellar a moment later, and then returned with a large red elixir. Ralof put the required amount of coins on the counter, grabbed the bottle, popped it open and downed it.

The effect was immediate. Ralof felt the pains in his broken leg leaving him, and felt warmth rush over the wound. After a moment, he tested his weight on it, and was relieved when it could take it.

"Broken leg?" Camilla Valerius guessed.

"I've got a Draugr who knew the Thu'um to thank for that," Ralof responded, feeling the rest of his injuries steadily heal. Glad that he could at least walk on two legs again, he gestured to his former crutch and said, "How much are you willing to pay for this?"

A few money-exchanges later, Ralof slipped out the door with his money pouch full and walking on two legs. His formerly broken leg was still slightly stiff and vaguely sore, though Lucan had assured him that the last of the aches would be gone by morning and his leg would be 'as good as new'. In the cool of the street, Ralof saw the distant torches of the patrolling guards.

_Well, off to Whiterun come the dawn,_ Ralof thought.

Exhaustion was dragging at his eyelids. He turned and headed back up the street towards Gerdur's cottage.

A roar pierced the silence.

Ralof spun around in shock. The echoes of the roar spun faintly around him, and Ralof found that his hand had already gone to his axe. For a moment, he waited, expecting to hear the roar echo through the mountains again. Because he could only place one name for that sound.

_Dragon._ It was a dragon's roar. He could clearly remember Helgen two or three days ago. The dragon's wailing cries, shrill screams, hisses of anger and rage. He hadn't told Gerdur, but the sight of that monster still haunted his nightmares.

In particular, the sight of Ja'kira, stumbling across the cobblestone. Being swept off her feet by the sweep of a tail. The dragon's cruel, cold laughter as it ended her life. How he had only stood in the doorway, watched as the life of an innocent woman was ended by the maw of a dragon.

And how it called her 'Dovahkiin'.

_What does that mean?_ Ralof thought. _Why did it even matter?_

He listened out for the dragon's call, but he heard only silence. Ralof moved his hand carefully away from the hilt of his axe.

The memory of the black dragon swooping down, burning Ja'kira to death, played once again in Ralof's memory. Her life snatched away before he could do anything. Because he had done nothing. The dragon...it had _known_ something about Ja'kira. It had been determined to kill her. It had succeeded. Its scream of triumph had echoed around the burning town. Screaming in its strange language something about this Dovahkiin...her. She was this Dovahkiin.

Ralof remembered in a flash the vision he had received in the ruins of the Barrow. How he had seen a Khajiit woman stand in front of the rune-wall, in front of the one that had been glowing, that had been surrounding her with that strange energy. Had that...had that been Ja'kira?

_That dragon...it definitely knew something about Ja'kira, something that nobody else, not even she, knew of,_ Ralof thought. _It was overjoyed when she was dead._

He found himself beginning to wonder: _What would she have done if she had escaped?_

* * *

Ralof spent the night with his sister, who was obviously startled when her brother turned up from nowhere looking completely exhausted. But soon his strength had returned and after a good meal, the family left the house; Frodnar and his dog, who Ralof learned was called Stump, went off towards the forge to play with his friend Dorthe, Alvor's daughter, who he was good friends with. Gerdur and Hod locked up and began to head to the mill.

"You're honestly going back there?" Gerdur asked incredulously. "Even after they tried to kill you?"

"Gerdur, if I don't go back there, it'll make matters even worse," Ralof said, gesturing to the Dragonstone. "The guards will be watching out for me going back to Dragonsreach. It'll be simple enough; give the Dragonstone to Farengar and get out. Then I head back to Windhelm and rejoin Ulfric Stormcloak and whatever comrades made it out alive."

"If I hear that Jarl Balgruuf so much as touched a hair on your head..."

"...then it's best if you keep your head down," Ralof warned her severely. "As far as I'm concerned, he has every right to kill me. He naturally should side with the Empire, if not for those bastard Elves. However, he has remained uneasily neutral with the two sides of the war for a reason. Most likely, because he respects Talos, and hates the Thalmor."

They emerged into the centre of the street.

"Brother, you realize that you may never come out of that city again if you go there," Gerdur said anxiously. "Jarl Balgruuf is serious when it comes to the protection of his people."

"Gerdur, look, I have no choice," said Ralof. He had kept this part of his...deal...with Balgruuf the Greater secret from Gerdur, not wishing to scare her, but he realized that she had to know. "If I don't return, they'll come and they'll kill you."

Gerdur's eyes grew wide with surprise. "How...?"

"He knows you're my sister, and how deeply I care for you," sighed Ralof. "So I had three choices; immediate death, possible death in the Barrow, or yours if I never returned. Not much point pretending I did die in the place anyway. The guards know that I'm here. They'll be watching me, waiting for me to head south now, I'm sure of it. And Jarl Balgruuf is an honourable man...of sorts. I don't think he'd stab me in the back after saying he'd let me go."

Gerdur bit her lip anxiously, and then just embraced him. "Take care of yourself, brother."

"Hey," said Ralof weakly. "Taking care of myself is something I'm good at."

Gerdur chuckled as she drew away. "I know. You've always been a survivor."

Ralof flashed his eyes down to the end of the road, where Frodnar and Stump were facing Dorthe the blacksmith's daughter. She seemed awfully excited about something. "It's good to see that even though the families differ on the war, they're good friends," Ralof commented off-handedly.

"And a pair of the worst troublemakers I've ever seen," Hod remarked, shaking his head slowly. "Have you heard that the two want to tie white branches to Stump and get the people to believe he's a Frostbite Spider?"

"Now what's the sense in that?" commented Ralof.

He heard the children's voices drift down the road.

"...returned from spending days in the forest!" Dorthe was saying happily.

Frodnar had stiffened. "But that's bad. That's really bad."

"It's not bad!" Dorthe challenged. "For you, maybe, but it's great that cousin Hadvar's returned! He's telling me the most awesome stories about dragons and that neighbouring city, Helgen!"

Ralof's eyes widened. _What? Hadvar's still alive?_

To confirm his thoughts, he saw the door to the blacksmith's house open, and an all-too-familiar Nord dressed head to foot in Imperial Legionnaire armour emerge onto the landing. Ralof frowned, one hand lowering to rest lightly on his axe. Gerdur and Hod threw Ralof anxious glances.

Hadvar lifted his gaze, and Ralof saw his cool brown eyes meet his own blue.

"Ralof..." Gerdur said uncertainly.

"No, it's all right," Ralof muttered. "Go to the mill. I'll be fine."

Gerdur and Hod looked uneasy with this, but they guessed that Ralof didn't want to draw too much more suspicion to them. They nodded and headed towards their mill. Ralof waited, motionless, as Hadvar headed down from the landing and approached the Stormcloak. His left hand lay casually over the hilt of his blade.

"Ralof," commented Hadvar. "I see that you managed to get out."

Ralof nodded, narrowing his eyes. "As did you, Hadvar."

Hadvar scowled. "I think you know I wasn't so lucky. It was fortunate that I managed to find someplace inconspicuous to hide until the dragon gave up and left Helgen for good. Not after leaving total devastation in his wake, though."

Ralof sighed. "Why are we even standing here and talking, Hadvar?" he inquired. "For the many months of this war we've been dreaming of killing each other. It's rare that we speak so civilly."

Hadvar shrugged. "We haven't gone back to the war, yet, have we?"

"Even so...hard to get the image of a Stormcloak's murder out of one's head."

Hadvar frowned deeply. "You knew perfectly well what was coming if you rebelled. You joined Ulfric and you had to pay the price."

Ralof folded his arms. "Are you going to do that now? Exact this so-called judgement? Run me through with that weapon, here in the very town where we were born?"

Hadvar was silent for a moment.

"You know," he said after a while, "Before...before the war began, and everything, do you remember...old times? What we used to be before the Stormcloaks formed, before the High King was murdered?"

Ralof hesitated. "I do," he responded. "But it's no good thinking back to old days anymore. They're over. We can never be friends again, not while the war rips the land apart and stains the earth with blood."

Hadvar was quiet, almost morose. "I know that we have our different reasons for joining the sides of the wars," he said steadily. "We aren't going to convince each other. In my eyes, you're a rebel, and in your eyes, I'm a coward. But that time, in Helgen, when I thought we'd be seeing each other for the last time...I couldn't help but remember what we used to be, as kids, y'know, in Riverwood."

Ralof slowly nodded. "I do remember that," he admitted. "The mischief we used to get up to as boys."

"The hunting we did together, too," Hadvar recalled. "And that time we ran into bandits...?"

"Took them out easy as you took out rabbits," Ralof commented. "While I preferred to run them through with the axe I used for cutting firewood. Only that the bandits were softer."

Hadvar chuckled. It was a small sound, but it spoke of his laughter of the memories, and Ralof chuckled too, remembering the easy way that the bandits had fallen to them. How they had worked together to protect each other. "We were good friends," Hadvar murmured.

"Brothers, in a way," Ralof said. He sighed heavily. "But, Hadvar, we're not that anymore. You know we'll never be able to look each other in the same way as we did as kids. So what's the point of the nostalgia? You didn't seem to show any sentimental nonsense in Helgen."

"I think you already knew how heartless my superior was," Hadvar commented.

_Yes. Condemning that innocent Khajiit to die. When she had done nothing wrong._

Perhaps Hadvar was thinking the same thing, because he said, "You know that I was sorry to send her to the block, don't you?"

Ralof recollected the memory, of seeing the regret on his face. "I guess you were," he admitted grudgingly. "You didn't do anything to stop her, though."

"I couldn't have done anything," snapped Hadvar. "What good would it have done for me to get executed for treason, too?"

"There was no treason amongst the Stormcloaks!" retorted Ralof. "Skyrim deserves a strong High King!"

"A High King who decides to murder the old one for his own advantage," Hadvar growled. "And this...this is why many have a problem with Ulfric and his band of Stormcloaks. He did wrong by killing Torygg. Did he deserve to die, Ralof? He was as innocent as Ja'kira was!"

A tense silence hung between them at these words.

Because all Ralof could see were the visions of Ja'kira falling. Raising her arm in a desperate attempt to ward off the hungry fires that had consumed her. The dragon had loomed over her. Cut away the Khajiit's life in the most terrible way imaginable. The flames had devoured her as they had devoured so many. She hadn't deserved to die. _She hadn't deserved to die._

Ralof felt little remorse when he walked into battle beside his Stormcloak brothers and sisters, and ended the lives of the Legionnaires that had opposed them. They were armed, and they stood and faced their matches, and they cut down their enemies through long and bloody battle. They died honourably. They would be commended to Sovngarde in death, and granted many peaceful eras of rest and jollity in the Halls.

But the Khajiit woman...she had been unarmed, save her claws, which would be as useful against dragon hide as feathers were on a fish. She hadn't been given a chance to defend herself. Only experience terror and pain before the end. And this was what angered Ralof the most. The fact that she was innocent. The fact that she had never been given a chance to fight.

The injustice had filled him, given him rage, given him strength. He had flung his axe at the dragon's head with all his might. Heard its bellows turn to that of fury and pain as the blade cleaved into its skull and tearing away half its sight.

"I saw what you did to the dragon," Hadvar said after a while.

Ralof nodded slightly at these words.

"Nice job."

"Thanks."

Hadvar was quiet, and then he said, "You seem to care quite a bit for the Khajiit. Did you...did you know her well?"

Ralof shook his head. "She was as a stranger to me as she was to you. But she saved my life from that dragon. If not for her, I'd be lying dead. And her death gives me such injustice. Nobody should die like that. She shouldn't have been with us."

"No." Hadvar shook his head slightly, and then sighed, looking troubled. "She...she saved my life, too. We were passing through an alleyway, between a wall and a building. I heard one of my own comrades up ahead. Fallen flaming wooden beams had blocked him off from the General. He called for him. I was about to help him, when Ja'kira grabbed me and heaved me back, throwing me against the wall...moments before that brute of a dragon landed. He killed the soldier and flew off, but he didn't notice us. If he had...we'd be dead. I'd be dead."

Ralof was silent.

Then, he said, "Why choose now to turn up in Riverwood?"

"I'm on my way to Whiterun. Got to let the Jarl know about the dragon, and...well...you can't exactly go marching in there."

Ralof laughed bitterly. "Oh boy, I wish you'd come and said that to me two days ago. I've already been and spoken with the Jarl, and was almost executed for my efforts."

Hadvar frowned slightly, a _You-deserve-it_ expression on his face. "So if you were almost executed, how come you got off? Don't tell me you made a daring escape."

"No, I was sent to be the errand-boy of Dragonsreach," Ralof replied. "I had to go into the bloody Barrow to find a Dragonstone for the court mage."

Hadvar raised his brow with surprise. "You went into Bleak Falls Barrow?"

"And came out alive," Ralof added. "Though barely. The creature, guarding the Dragonstone? It had the Thu'um like Ulfric. Only I was at the other end of the blast."

"Hmm. Sounded tough to beat." Hadvar crossed his arms. "And now you're on your way back to Whiterun, I presume. Well...thanks, I guess. I can head straight on to Solitude now, let the General know that I'm all right. You'll be heading back to Windhelm after your business in Dragonsreach. The war...it'll begin for us again. And the next time we meet, it might be at the ends of one of our blades in the other's gut."

He sighed. "Look. This is probably the last time we'll ever be neutral to one another again. When the war's over, one of us isn't returning to Riverwood. You don't have to accept it, but...good luck."

Ralof forced the ghost of a smile on his face. "Thanks."

Hadvar hesitated a split second longer, and then he turned and headed back towards his uncle Alvor's riverside cottage. Ralof watched him go, feeling the faintest hint of remorse tug at his heart. The friendship that they had had together had been the greatest...abruptly severed when they discovered how much their beliefs differed. Enough to one day face each other in combat, and not hesitate to strike each other.

He turned away and began to follow the path to Whiterun. The sooner that he got this Dragonstone business done with, Ralof conceded, the sooner it'd be over, and the sooner he could get back to Windhelm and rejoin the war.

* * *

_A/N: Thanks again to all my reviewers and followers! Hang 'round: will Ralof be attempted-executed anyway in Dragonsreach? Or will another slightly-more-urgent matter arise...?_


	5. A Deeper Understanding of War

_A/N: Hi again! __Sorry about the delay in updating. But here is chapter five, and chapter six will be coming out shortly!_

* * *

_CHAPTER FIVE: A DEEPER UNDERSTANDING OF WAR_

"Stormcloak!"

Ralof glared at the guards outside the gates to Whiterun. "Haven't we been through this all before?" he snapped. "Now does the Jarl want his bloody Dragonstone or not?"

"Oh, it's you," the guard who had shouted said almost grudgingly. "The protégé of the court wizard? Let's see it, then."

Ralof lifted it up and said, "This proof enough for you?"

"...I guess so," the second guard conceded. "You know, we thought you'd never return. Stormcloak rebels are pretty hard to trust."

"And Whiterun guards are pretty bad at shutting their mouths," Ralof retorted. "Now let me in or I'm leaving."

"Keep your chainmail on, Stormcloak," the first guard drawled, as he stepped back and slid his sword back into his sheath. "And let's hope that the Jarl keeps your head on your shoulders when you leave Whiterun again, eh? Of course, a man can hope..."

Ralof resisted the temptation to dig his axe into the throat of the guard as he passed him and entered the city. That wouldn't have boded well. He looked around the city again. There was plenty of people walking through the streets, and as he made his way up to Dragonsreach, he became aware that many were staring at him, whispering behind his back. But he was pretty certain that news had spread around Whiterun that he _wasn't_ a messenger with an ultimatum, because nobody even mentioned that word as he passed them on his way up to the palace. Of course, Heimskr still prattled away about it, but fortunately nobody seemed to be paying any attention to him.

The guard who stood watchfully just outside the palace halted him and said, "Where is it?"

Ralof obligingly showed it to the guard. "There. Now let me in and let's get this over with."

"Hmph," the guard said. "You may have to wait. Farengar's already seeing somebody."

"I'm not waiting," Ralof snapped.

The guard shrugged as he stepped back. "Your funeral, if you want to interrupt the court mage in a discussion. Even if you do bear his supposed Dragonstone."

Ralof walked in. As he made his way up the stairs to the main landing, he could hear the voices of the supposed associate coming from Farengar's room, as well as Farengar's.

"You see," the court mage was saying, "the terminology is clearly First Era, possibly even earlier. I'm convinced this is a copy of a much older text. Perhaps dating back to just after the Dragon War. If so, I could use this to cross-reference the names with later texts."

"Good," his associate said. She sounded like a Breton, Ralof noted...and he frowned, as he swore he could recognize that voice as one he had heard many times before. "My employers are anxious to have some tangible answers."

As Ralof drew near the doorway, he saw the pair leaning over what appeared to be some ancient book and a few bits of old parchment. Farengar nodded and said, "Oh, have no fear, the Jarl himself is finally taking an interest, so now I'm able to devote most of my time to this research."

The woman straightened, and said, "Time is running, Farengar, don't forget. This isn't some theoretical question. Dragons have come back."

Ralof felt a cold feeling settle into his stomach. There was more than one?

"Yes, yes, don't worry," Farengar replied, though somewhat distractedly, as though he, too, were unnerved by this. "Although the chance of seeing a dragon up close would be tremendously valuable..." the court mage added longingly after a brief pause. Then he seemed to snap back into the present and he turned to a table just behind him, pulling out an ancient dusty tome and putting it in front of the woman, and he said, "Now, let me show you something else I've found...very intriguing...I think your employers would be interested as well..."

And it was at this point that the woman looked sharply up. Her piercing eyes fell on Ralof, and he frowned. He had definitely seen her before... "You have a visitor," the woman said.

Farengar looked up. "Ah, Stormcloak. You're back from the Barrow. I trust that you were successful?"

Ralof wordlessly approached the mage and dropped the Dragonstone unceremoniously onto the woodwork of the table. "I hope it was worth it," Ralof said.

"Oh, it was, it was," Farengar replied, as he picked up the Dragonstone and caressed it, feeling the notches in its surface. "How very intriguing...and perfect for my research! You have my thanks, Stormcloak."

The woman frowned slightly, as though she were trying to work out where she had seen his face, too. "You went into the Barrow and got that?" she asked, sounding surprised. "Nice job."

"It wasn't a picnic," Ralof replied.

The woman frowned, and then glanced at Farengar and said, "Send me a copy when you've deciphered it. In the meantime, you were showing me...?"

"Oh, yes!" Farengar put the Dragonstone down. He glanced almost impatiently up at Ralof and said, "Well, I'm sure that the Jarl will want to speak with you. You've no reason for lingering here, Stormcloak."

"My name is Ralof," the Stormcloak said irritably.

The woman looked up sharply for the briefest of moments, as though she recognized the name. Then she lowered her eyes again.

"Well, _Ralof_, you'd best get going. You're no longer of any use to me," Farengar said.

_And thank the Gods for that,_ Ralof thought, as he headed out from Farengar's study, and almost walked straight into Irileth in the process.

"Watch where you're going," Ralof said shortly to her.

Irileth frowned. "I was looking for you, actually. The Jarl wishes to speak with you, in his war room. I presume that you have completed the task set to you?"

"Go and see Farengar if you won't believe my word," Ralof replied.

Irileth nodded. "Good. Come with me."

"What does he want now?"

"He wishes to...formally release you from your service to him," Irileth replied, as she led the way towards the war room. Ralof didn't like the brief hesitation in her voice, and he had a sinking feeling he'd get another damned déjà vu.

When they appeared in the war room, Balgruuf, who was standing beside his table, looked up and said, "Ah, so he's returned. Thank you, Irileth."

The Dunmer nodded and respectfully took her leave. Ralof found himself standing quite alone before the Jarl of Whiterun. A pair of guards subtly moved just in front of the stairs behind him, and Ralof had the very bad sense that he was trapped. At least he had his weapon on him this time.

"You did well, Stormcloak, by my terms," the Jarl said, straightening and stepping away from the table. "To be honest, I didn't expect you to return from the Barrow. You must have cared very much about your family to step into such a place."

Ralof clenched his fists. "I didn't exactly have another choice. You would have killed my sister."

"I had to ensure your temporary loyalty to Whiterun, now didn't I?" Balgruuf the Greater said calmly. "I'm glad that it didn't have to come to any executions in the end. You've done Whiterun a service, Stormcloak. Entering Bleak Falls Barrow by yourself, where few return alive from it again? I certainly didn't expect this."

_So you expected me to die._ "You're not exactly one with much faith, are you, Jarl?" Ralof said.

"I've never been one to believe in rebellious men," said Jarl Balgruuf. "Particularly not ones who serve a king-killer."

Ralof wanted more than anything to snap at the Jarl that Ulfric Stormcloak was _not_ a murderer, and that he challenged Torygg in fair combat, in the old Nord way. The man hadn't been stuck in the back by a knife, for pity's sake! _That_ was murder. The Dark Brotherhood took care of that. But he knew he was already at the Jarl's current mercy, and it was obvious the Jarl was considering decapitating him nonetheless for his efforts, so all Ralof did was lower his eyes to hide his anger.

"It's fortunate that so far the General doesn't know," said Balgruuf, almost thoughtfully. "Else he would've made the unfortunate assumption. He still doesn't need to know. And your usefulness to Whiterun is now depleted."

"I've done as you've asked," Ralof said. "So let me go. Let me return to the war."

Jarl Balgruuf frowned. "And then what would happen? Ulfric would march on Whiterun. And I would be cast from my throne and driven from this place like a damned dog."

"You wouldn't, if you accept the cause that Ulfric is fighting for," Ralof said quietly.

Jarl Balgruuf scowled. "And that cause is what? Murdering more Jarls?"

"Fighting to liberate Skyrim. Do you want to see our homeland in the grasp of damned Elves?"

The Jarl of Whiterun stiffened at this, and Ralof knew he had hit a sore spot. _So he does hate the Thalmor as any Nord should,_ he thought. _So therefore he worships Talos._ _Balgruuf is a true Nord at heart._

"No, I wouldn't," said Jarl Balgruuf thoughtfully. "The Empire do little to support this. They dishonoured all of us the moment they signed that blasted Concordat, all those years ago."

"So imagine what it would be like to see Skyrim as an independent nation," Ralof continued. "A country like Hammerfell, free from the ties of the Empire, looking after itself and its own problems. United under the name of Talos Stormcrown. This is what Ulfric is fighting for, Jarl. This is what I am fighting for. Freedom."

"By fighting and killing other Nords?" Jarl Balgruuf commented.

"Those Nords chose to serve the Empire. They chose to back up those cowardly Legion dogs," Ralof pointed out.

Jarl Balgruuf was silent for a moment, before he said slowly:

"Tell me, Ralof of Riverwood, is Ulfric a good man?"

So startled was Ralof by the question that for a moment he didn't respond. Jarl Balgruuf was asking him, a man he had formerly tried to kill a few days ago, for advice. On _Ulfric Stormcloak_, a man that Ralof thought he despised, because of his killing of Torygg.

Ralof was about to respond when he saw the true meaning behind Balgruuf's words. And he found himself beginning to wonder: _was_ Ulfric a good man? For the first time, he saw him through how Jarl Balgruuf might have seen him; a man, who used the terrible power of the Thu'um to his own will, who had murdered a much-loved High King to further his own cause, who had begun a bloody rebellion where countless had died.

And Ralof finally realized and understood the hesitation of Jarl Balgruuf. Why he would not join Ulfric, and had not for all these months. He thought that Ulfric was doing it just for himself, to further his own ambitions.

"My Jarl," Ralof said quietly. "It seems that we are misunderstood. Ulfric _is_ a good man. He does not do this for himself. He never has. His heart lies only in the protection of Skyrim. Her freedom, as much as its people's. He doesn't fight to claim the throne like a tyrant would. He fights to liberate Skyrim from the banishing of Talos worship."

Jarl Balgruuf didn't speak as Ralof went on to further his point. "Ulfric served once in the Legion, remember, lord? The Empire left him for dead when he was captured and tortured for months by the Thalmor for information. He still would not betray Skyrim. When he led an army of troops into the Reach to drive away the Forsworn from Markarth, and the Empire was forced to arrest him, Ulfric was still loyal to Skyrim."

"And how does this supposed loyalty to his homeland justify the death of the High King?" asked Balgruuf.

Ralof thought this over for a moment, before he said, "Jarl Ulfric bore the scars of war, my Jarl. He had fought, bled and almost died in the name of Skyrim. High King Torygg already betrayed him when he gave Ulfric and his militia prison cells instead of Talos worship after the Markarth incident. Ulfric was resentful that Torygg did not even stick to his promises. It was obvious to him, and to many of us, that Torygg respected or feared the Thalmor more than he worshipped and revered Talos. Ulfric sensed that Skyrim lay in the hands of a crumbling leader who was too weak to protect his homeland. This is what he tried to prove, when he killed Torygg in the eyes of many. If he wanted to murder the High King, he would have just had the Dark Brotherhood take care of such a task. But if he had done that he would not have been able to prove a point."

Jarl Balgruuf was very quiet when he thought these points over. Then he said, "Those are all good reasons, Stormcloak. You seem to truly understand the man, whereas I, like so many, just..._assumed_."

He frowned thoughtfully. "I did not realize the finer points of the incident in Markarth, or the fact that Ulfric had been tortured by the Thalmor. But now I understand more clearly what Ulfric fights for. And for all these months, since the rebellion began, I thought that he only fought for himself."

"That is what many believe, Jarl," said Ralof quietly, but astonished at his own political power. _Have I just given reason for Balgruuf to join the war? To join _our_ side, after so long?_

But at that moment, there was the sudden sound of footsteps, agitated and restless, and a moment later the two guards who stood guarding the stairway were almost knocked over as three people suddenly burst into the war room. Irileth's red eyes betrayed her urgency. Farengar's displayed excitement. And the guard who looked breathless and terrified by his movements alone seemed to have nothing but fear in his eyes, which was what Ralof saw when the guard removed his helm.

"What's going on?" Jarl Balgruuf demanded sharply.

"My lord!" Irileth said promptly. "A dragon's been sighted at the western watchtower!"

Ralof stared at her, eyes wide. _What? That's...that's impossible! That creature's come back!?_

"How is this possible?" demanded Jarl Balgruuf.

Irileth turned to the breathless guard and said, "Tell him what you told me, Sibjorn. About the dragon."

The guard—Sibjorn—bowed briefly to the Jarl and said, "My lord, the dragon came so quickly that we had very little time to prepare for it. It was like...it was a huge beast, scales brown as earth and eyes like flame. It moved through the air with the speed of a hawk!"

Ralof frowned. _The description doesn't seem to match the dragon I saw at Helgen..._

"What is it doing now?" Jarl Balgruuf demanded urgently. "Is it attacking the watchtower?"

The guard trembled. "N-no, my lord. It was just circling overhead when I left. But...but it could be, lord. I saw it dive when I was running. I've never run so fast in my life...I thought it'd come after me for sure!"

"Easy, son," Jarl Balgruuf said, placing a firm hand on the guard's trembling shoulder. "You've done well, Sibjorn. Go down to the barracks and get some food and rest. You've earned it."

Sibjorn nervously bowed his head. "A-as you wish, lord. But...but what about the dragon? My friends are at the tower!"

"Have no fear. We will see to the dragon matter," Jarl Balgruuf assured him.

Sibjorn nervously drew himself up, trying to control his fear, and in a voice that didn't quake with terror, he said, "My lord, if you are going to go and fight the dragon, then please, I beg of you, let me accompany you."

Irileth looked surprised. "Are you sure, Sibjorn? You just escaped from the creature."

"Yes, Housecarl." Sibjorn lowered his eyes. "I can't abandon my friends to that creature. I...I _want_ to fight it. I need to fight it. I don't want to remain in the barracks when many others will be fighting the creature."

Irileth and Jarl Balgruuf exchanged a thoughtful glance, and then the Jarl simply nodded and said, "Very well, son. If you really want to fight alongside Irileth against the dragon, then so be it."

"Thank you, my lord."

_What a bold heart,_ Ralof found himself thinking. _Determined to fight for his Hold against a creature that none of us have any fighting experience against..._

He hesitated when the Jarl suddenly turned a questioning gaze to him, and inwardly Ralof cursed. _Oh hell..._I_ have fighting experience against a dragon!_

"Ralof of Riverwood," said the Jarl. "I want you to go with Irileth and the guards and help them fight this dragon."

Ralof stiffened, uncertain, paralyzed as the memory of Helgen played itself before his eyes. The huge black dragon destroying and killing, moving with the speed of something almost unworldly, and how it killed mercilessly. Yet again, he saw that Khajiit woman raising her arm and screaming a desperate wail as the flames of the beast consumed her...

"I sense your hesitation," Jarl Balgruuf said, and Ralof was surprised by the understanding in his voice. "But you survived Helgen. You saw a dragon with your own eyes. You even managed to wound it when others could not. You have more experience with those creatures than anybody else here."

"You also survived Bleak Falls Barrow," Farengar pointed out crisply. "So you must have some skill to last in a battle."

Ralof was aware that the court mage was looking at him very thoughtfully indeed, as though considering something. Ralof turned back to the Jarl and said, "I thought that I was done."

"I am not ordering you to fight the dragon," said Jarl Balgruuf. "I am _asking_ you. You have the freedom to say no, to turn and leave Whiterun, to return to the war."

Perhaps Ralof once would have said yes, taken that opportunity to leave. But all he could think about was how that woman died. The Khajiit who had been innocent, who had saved his life, who had died so unjustfully. Her scream of pain was scorched forever in his mind. A dragon had taken her life. And it filled Ralof with rage. Even if this creature was not the same who had consumed her body, Ralof knew that he was honourbound in her sake to fight the beast.

_This is only the first step of vengeance against those dragons,_ Ralof realized.

He nodded once and said, "I will fight, Jarl."

Balgruuf smiled. He actually did. He rested a hand on Ralof's shoulder and said, "Thank you. I'm sure that all of Whiterun will appreciate this. No matter what happens at the watchtower."

Ralof lowered his eyes. "What will happen if the dragon succeeds against Whiterun's defense?"

"Then it succeeds," Jarl Balgruuf said grimly. "But not before we die without a fight."

He paused for a moment, before he turned to the three others and said, "You are dismissed. Irileth, Sibjorn, assemble the men at the gates. Ralof will be with you shortly."

The Dunmer and guard nodded once, accepting his words, before they turned and departed the war room swiftly.

"My liege," said Farengar, "I would very much like to see this dragon."

"I'm sorry, Farengar, but I can't risk both you and Irileth," Jarl Balgruuf said firmly. "I need you here, working on ways to defend ourselves against these creatures, and deciphering the Dragonstone that Ralof collected from the Barrow."

"As you wish, Jarl," said Farengar, not exactly happy with this choice, but he departed nonetheless, presumably to go back to his quarters.

Then Balgruuf turned back to Ralof and said quietly, "Times are changing, Ralof. This I have sensed."

Ralof was silent, aware that he needed to listen.

"The dragons are returning, as Farengar believes," Balgruuf continued. "First Helgen is destroyed. And now the watchtower has been attacked." His eyes steadily met Ralof's. "But you survived Helgen. You wounded that dragon. You made your way through Bleak Falls Barrow and returned alive from it, and successful, where no mortal man before has ever made it to the lower chambers and returned. I now suspect that there is something in you, Ralof. You have been blessed by the Gods themselves."

Ralof stopped, astonished at this, and then looked away. "That's untrue, lord. It was by pure luck alone that I survived."

"And yet luck is such a fickle thing to come by," Jarl Balgruuf said wonderingly. "I believe that I was wrong about you, Ralof of Riverwood. I sense that you are to do great things to this land. It must be a sign that there is indeed hope in these coming times."

He paused, and then he drew his axe—the axe that almost had claimed his life, Ralof noted apprehensively—but Jarl Balgruuf instead handed it to Ralof.

"This is my axe of Whiterun," Jarl Balgruuf said. "Forged by my personal smithy. It has served me well. But now, Ralof, I believe that you are worthy to wield it in my name against the dragon who threatens our Hold."

Ralof held the mighty axe. He stepped back and gave it a few experimental swings. It could be both wielded by one hand or two, and was light and strong. Ralof sensed an enchantment had been placed over the weapon. He gazed at it a moment longer, before he turned back to the Jarl and bowed his head, accepting the gift of the weapon.

"And should you return alive," said the Jarl, as Ralof turned to leave, "I believe that we need to discuss certain matters concerning my allegiance in the war."

* * *

_A/N: So Ralof's won Balgruuf's respect. Hard not to when you half-blind a God with a single blow!_

_Now the bold young Stormcloak is off to fight a dragon, discover what the word 'Dovahkiin' meant, and a shifting in the previously stalemated war...  
_


	6. A Turning Point in the War

_A/N: And here we are again! Thank you to everybody who has reviewed and favourited/followed the story._

* * *

_CHAPTER SIX: THE TURNING POINT IN THE WAR_

The smoke was clearly visible to Ralof even before the watchtower came into view. But Ralof felt immediate dismay when he finally stopped and stared across the road and to the tower. Smoke rose everywhere, and in the late-afternoon sunshine he could see the glow of flame still burning. A huge chunk had been knocked out from the watchtower as though a head had thrust its way through and scorched the interior. Rather like Helgen.

"Oh, no..." Sibjorn whispered.

The guards who had accompanied Irileth had a similar reaction. Some of them took off their helms and stared only in stunned disbelief at the wrecked watchtower, hardly able to believe their eyes, at the mass destruction that they were seeing.

"It's gone," Sibjorn murmured. "Everything...everyone...gone."

In the silence that followed, Sibjorn glanced at Ralof. "You, Stormcloak," said the guard. "You were at Helgen, weren't you? You survived the devastation."

Ralof, aware that several pairs of eyes were now on him, nodded.

"What was the power of the dragon like?" Sibjorn asked quietly. "Unleashed and up close?"

"Something I had hoped I wouldn't have to see again," Ralof said truthfully. That watchtower brought up too-bad memories before his eyes. "In a matter of seconds everything was destroyed and the fires devoured."

Irileth's mouth was a grim line across her face. "I know it looks bad," she said, though she seemed to speak more to Sibjorn and Ralof than she did to the rest of her soldiers. "There's no doubt that a dragon's been here. It's only been half an hour since the alarm was raised. No ordinary creature could unleash such devastation. But we've got to try and find any survivors to this attack, and find out more about this creature."

Sibjorn nodded determinedly. "I want to find my friends."

"We all do," another guard said.

"Spread out and look for survivors," ordered Irileth, as she drew a sleek steel sword that rested at her side. In unison, the other guards pulled out their weapons and approached the tower, though somewhat cautiously. The Dunmer woman glanced at Ralof and said, "Come with me."

Ralof paused. He and Irileth weren't the best of friends. He knew that they had regarded each other with thinly-veiled hostility the moment they first lay eyes on one another. So why did Irileth want to speak with him now? Even so, he wasn't about to refuse. He drew Balgruuf's axe and followed her as they approached the destroyed watchtower.

"Tell me again what the brute who wrecked Helgen was like," Irileth said quietly.

_So that's what it's about, is it?_ Ralof scowled. "You already know what it was like. A huge black creature as monstrous as a nightmare, with burning red eyes. Well, one red eye now, but even so."

Irileth was quiet for a moment, before she said, "Tell me, Ralof, what do you know about dragons?"

Ralof was startled by the question. "What do you mean?"

Irileth stared at him levelly. "What I just said."

"Not much," Ralof conceded. "Only stories. Huge creatures that could breathe fire."

"Farengar believes differently," said Irileth. "That man's a genius on dragon-lore. He's even beginning to decipher parts of its language, from things he called Word Walls. It tells history of dragons. He believes that they can use elements of power to control not just fire, but other sources of intense powers, too."

She and Ralof paused in the shadow of the huge tower. Ralof could already feel the heat of dragonfire pressing against his armour and skin. "I can certainly understand why the dragons are feared," Irileth murmured, half to herself. "Farengar thinks that the dragons originated from the continent of Akavir."

"Where there are more lizard-folks than the Argonians of Black Marsh," said Ralof, remembering vague explanations of the old land across the face of Nirn.

"But Farengar believes in a kind of legend—actually, most of the Nords in Dragonsreach do," said Irileth. "Have you heard of the Nordic God of Destruction, Ralof?"

Ralof paused out of surprise of hearing his name spoken by the Dunmer woman for the first time. Then he said, "You mean Alduin, right?"

"Yes, Alduin," Irileth confirmed. "Firstborn of Akatosh and all that. Some say that Alduin takes the form of a dragon, like his father, though he's far less glorious and grand as our chief deity of the Divines."

They clambered over a pile of still-smoking rubble, and Ralof felt a sick feeling begin in his chest when he saw a guard's helmet, still smoking and badly scorched, lying near a bit of scorched timber and charred cloth that might have once been a flag or a banner.

"Farengar believes that Alduin was never destroyed back in the First Era," said Irileth. "And that one day he'd return. Of course, the dragons followed Alduin's rule. And now the dragons are returning. Helgen...the watchtower...it could be a sign that the end days are coming."

Ralof stared at her. "And you believe this?"

"I've never been one for Nordic legends," Irileth replied truthfully. "But I can't help wondering, with the strange events that have been happening in the past few days. I mean, the dragons were thought to be long dead, completely wiped out, thousands of years ago. And now suddenly they're returning."

For a moment, they were quiet, and then Irileth said, "But many Nords believe that when Alduin comes, so will another."

"Another what? A dragon?"

"No. Another mortal, but who possesses the soul of a dragon."

Ralof stared at her. "Do you mean a—?"

"Irileth! Over here!"

The shout came from Sibjorn, abruptly cutting Ralof off from his intended sentence, and both he and Irileth looked up towards the wrecked entrance to the tower. Sibjorn had forced a shattered door open, and Ralof realized that he wasn't alone. Another guard was with him, badly burned along one side and eyes wide and frantic. His helm was missing, and a large bruise was swelling over one of his eyes.

"That's Delgar!" Irileth exclaimed, breaking away from Ralof's side and hurrying towards the watchtower. Ralof remained where he was, looking around, because suddenly, he had a bad feeling that something wasn't quite right. If there was a survivor here...surely a dragon would have made sure there weren't any survivors?

"No, no!" Delgar was saying, almost incoherently. "Get back! It's still here somewhere! Hroki and Tor just got grabbed when they tried to make a run for it!"

"What? Hroki, Tor, dead?" a horrified guardsman exclaimed, and he set off at a run towards the broken stairs, where Sibjorn and Irileth were crouched beside the frightened guard.

"What happened?" Irileth demanded quietly. "Where's this dragon? Quickly now!"

"I don't know," Delgar whimpered, "But it's still here. I know it's still here!"

Ralof frowned up at the soldier, and then turned away. Where could a dragon hide, in an open plain like this? Surrounding the watchtower were huge meadows and plains, completely open and exposed under a late-Last Seed sun.

Except...

Ralof turned his eyes towards the mountainside where the Barrow lay. He could still see the huge stone archways that formed a kind of sentinel over the huge entrance to the Barrow, dark smudges against the sky and between the curves of two tall mountains that cradled the old ruin. But there...in those mountains...was a perfect place for a dragon to hide. The Barrow was very large and open but sheltered from the icy winds that scoured the peaks of the stone hills.

And then he heard the dreaded sound. A dragon's roar, one he recognized immediately from his encounters in Helgen. Ralof stared in horror at the Barrow, in time to see a huge shape silently take to the air.

"Ah...Irileth?" he called. "I think we've got company."

The guards looked up. "Holy..." began one of them.

"Talos save us, here he comes again," Delgar whispered.

The dragon was drawing nearer, massive wings beating in the still air. It let out another bloodcurdling roar, one which was suddenly very familiar to Ralof. It was the same dragon's scream he had heard from that huge black one, the one that it had used when it revealed itself at last to the people of Helgen.

The scream that it had found its prey, and that it was to attack.

"It's a trap!" yelled Sibjorn. "The dragon was baiting us!"

"Find cover!" ordered Irileth, as she drew a magnificent bow from her shoulders. "And make every arrow count! We've got to bring that bastard _down!_"

Ralof drew his axe. _Talos save me,_ he thought, as he prepared to fight the kind of creature he had hoped never to lay eyes on again. Kin to the dark one who had taken the lives of countless in Helgen.

The dragon exploded from a smoke torrent and Ralof immediately knew that it wasn't the same dragon that had destroyed Helgen. As he had suspected, it was a different one, fitting Sibjorn's description perfectly. It had deep brown scales, and a stone-grey underbelly, and its eyes were the colour of copper. Massive horns protruded from its skull, and smaller horns were visible on its wing joints. The talons on the feet of the dragon were huge and looked deadly and sharp. A massive kind of dagger-shaped spike protruded from its tailtip. Its wings were a tawny brown.

"Kill it!" shrieked Irileth, and she was the first to let her arrow fly.

The dragon swerved around the arrow with apparent ease, and hissed in amusement as it circled lower towards the watchtower. The guards straightened from their cover and released their arrows, but none found their mark. Ralof fell back towards the keep just as the dragon shrieked unearthly words and let loose a bout of burning golden fire. Breathing flame, the dragon flew one complete circle around the watchtower, until suddenly Ralof realized everybody who had come to the tower was trapped within a ring of dragonfire.

"_Zu lost vodahmin tol joorre kos rinik mey!_" the dragon laughed. Though Ralof couldn't understand a single word of what the dragon was saying, he guessed it didn't exactly bode well in their current situation. The dragon swept low, huge wings flapping, and a gust of air knocking into a pair of guardsmen who were desperately trying to get away from the roaring flames.

"_Zu drun hio ziiie ko faal zin do zu Thuri!_" the dragon snarled. It swept low, and in a single motion, it had seized the two guards in its talons and had sailed up into the air with them screaming and struggling in its claws.

"No!" Irileth shouted.

"Akar!" yelled Sibjorn in horror.

The dragon laughed cruelly as it opened its claws and released the two guardsmen, who fell, screaming, straight into the mass of flames. Their cries were abruptly cut short as the fires consumed them.

_The dragon's head jerked back. Its eyes gleamed with rage. Ja'kira looked up at the dragon in terror, letting out a scream of fright as she half-lifted her arm in a hopeless attempt to shield herself from what was to come. The dragon's jaws parted. The gout of fire spilled out, completely enveloping Ja'kira. Her scream was abruptly cut short. And when the flames ended...she lay unmoving upon the cobblestones._

"No!" cried Ralof, jerking his mind from the memory, grief and horror overwhelming him. The guards...they had to be alive. Dragonfire couldn't have consumed them, too...but they were. They were dead, no more than blackened bones now, and even those were being turned to ashes in the hungry flames. The dragon roared its amusement as it circled high, vanishing up into the rapidly rising smoke of the ring of fire.

Ralof's eyes drifted towards the weapons that the guards had let go as they were snatched up by the claws of the dragon. One of them...yes, he saw a bow there. Ralof felt that same kind of rage he had felt moments after Ja'kira's death. The rage that had propelled his arm forward, the arm with the axe. The axe that had cleaved the skull of the beast as it roared its victory. He found himself running towards the dropped bow.

The dragon circled once more around the tower. He could hear its rushing wingbeats and knew that it was preparing to swoop and snatch once again. But Ralof continued to run. He slid his axe into his sheath as he neared the bow, and grabbed it. His foot knocked against something; a torn arrow quiver, which must have been ripped from the guard's back by the dragon's claws as he was dragged up into the air. Several of the arrows were damaged beyond repair, but a few were in usable condition. Ralof seized the first that came to hand and put it to the bowstring.

The dragon leapt from the smoke. Sibjorn and Irileth bravely shot at it once again, and like their former shots, they, too, missed. The dragon's eyes were turned towards another guard who had straightened from shelter behind a fallen bit of rubble, not too far from where Ralof was now, and was aiming shakily at the dragon's skull. It hissed laughter and sped towards him, claws extended.

_I won't let you!_ Ralof roared in his mind.

He released his arrow and it sped through the air, fast and true. The dragon saw it coming out of the corner of its eye and tried to pull back from its dive, but the arrow sunk into its chest before it even realized it had been struck. It wailed in pain and swerved clumsily above the guard, who was knocked backwards nonetheless by the force of the wind beneath the dragon's wings. The dragon continued to wail its pain as it rose back up into the smoke.

Ralof stared after it for a moment longer, his rage dying. He dropped the bow and ran towards the fallen guard. "You okay?" he asked quietly, as he helped the stunned man to his feet.

But the guard could only stare at him. "You hit it..." he whispered. "You saved my life..."

The dragon screamed, its voice rolling around in the columns of smoke.

"Not yet I haven't," Ralof replied tersely, as he drew his axe. _Let the dragon come and fight on the ground like a warrior,_ he thought.

But the dragon suddenly exploded from the clouds. Arrows sang from the bows of the other guards, and all missed. The dragon swerved abruptly around the tower, and Ralof instinctively pushed the guard down onto his front and dropped down beside him. The dragon whirled just above them, and continued on its flight. The moment that it had passed, Ralof straightened and raced around the fallen rubble and towards where Irileth and Sibjorn stood, arrows readied and raised.

"It's too fast," Irileth snapped in frustration. "We can't get a bead on it!"

"Then how are we supposed to kill it?" demanded Sibjorn.

"Somehow," Ralof growled, "we have to get it onto the ground. That's the only way."

"And how do you propose we do that?" Irileth asked sharply.

Ralof didn't get a chance to respond. The dragon suddenly swept from the smoke.

"Hon zu Thu'um, sahlo joorre!" the dragon roared, and it suddenly slowed its flight until it hovered over where the three stood. Ralof, with a sinking feeling to heart, realized what it was going to do. There wasn't any time to move.

The dragon drew back its head. _YOL –_

And then it drew back in pain as suddenly lightning exploded from Irileth's fingertips, and crashed directly against the dragon's chest. It yowled in agony as traces of the lightning flashed through its body. "Move!" shouted Irileth, and Ralof and Sibjorn turned and ran to find shelter behind the broken stairs. Irileth appeared shortly afterwards, warding the creature away with more shock from her fingertips. With a snarl of frustration, the dragon resumed flight, throwing itself forward and circling once more around the tower.

"Housecarl..." whispered Sibjorn, relief evident in its voice. "Thank...thank you..."

"It didn't really hurt it," said Irileth grimly. "Merely stunned it long enough for us to get into shelter."

She frowned in puzzlement. "But the dragon was already injured. There was an arrow stuck in its chest. Who managed to hit it?"

"Me," Ralof confessed.

Irileth stared at him. "You managed to strike the beast?" she asked, surprised.

"It was either that or watch another guardsman die," Ralof retorted, straightening. "But it's impossible for the dragon to be killed while it's in the air. The only question is how to get it down onto the ground..."

And then suddenly he saw the dragon loom before them from the smoke, eyes blazing with rage.

"Diir, joore!" it shrieked.

"Shoot it!" Ralof ordered. Irileth straightened with her bow and loosed her arrow. The dragon calmly dodged the barbed arrowhead, and ducked beneath Sibjorn's. Then it pulled into a hover high above them, out of range of their arrows. Its eyes gleamed with hunger and malice.

Ralof had a bad feeling.

"RUN!" he yelled, pulling himself away from the crumbled stone. Sibjorn and Irileth rapidly followed suit. Behind him, Ralof heard the dragon roar its guttural words. And then a soft rush, and a deafening rumble, accompanied by intense heat, followed it.

Then the fireball slammed onto the ground where they had been moments ago. Intense heat washed over Ralof and the ground shook wildly beneath him, making him abruptly stumble forward onto his front. He clenched his fist harder around the axe, knowing that somewhere in the stunned recesses of his mind, he mustn't let go of his weapon.

"Hio kos mul, joor," he heard the dragon growl. Ralof realized that it was speaking to him. He half-turned in time to see a massive brown shape loom before him, and then a powerful blow struck him hard in the gut, and he felt himself flying across the ground.

"Nuz hio kos ni dovahkiin!" the dragon screamed.

Ralof landed hard. His senses went flying, as did the weapon from his hand. When he finally came to a stop, he felt darkness crash over his vision, as the aches of his body overwhelmed him. The dragon whirled away, and then Ralof felt himself sink into unconsciousness.

But then suddenly images played in front of his eyes. Ralof became aware that he was neither standing nor sitting. The colours were too bright and too dark in some places. _Is this another vision?_ he wondered, abruptly remembering the one he had received in the Barrow, when he had touched that certain rune.

He could see guardsmen running, flames roaring and springing into life around them. Ralof could even see Irileth. Her leather armour was streaked with soot and ash and her skin covered in blood, some of it her own. A dragon, the same dark brown dragon, circled high above, growling incomprehensible words in its language.

And then Ralof saw a figure appear from nowhere, a figure tall and lean. Her ears were flattened and her eyes burning fear and fury, as she released an arrow up at the creature. It struck it squarely and it bellowed, dropping abruptly from its dive.

The woman was a Khajiit, and one Ralof thought he could recognize. _Ja'kira?_ he asked himself, stunned. _What is this? Where am I?_

"It moves too quickly!" the Khajiit said, and Ralof could hear her voice clearly, though it was echoing, as though coming from very far away. It was one he recognized. It _was_ Ja'kira. "We cannot hope to take it down while it remains in flight!"

"But we can't get it!" Irileth said wearily, one of her fingers crackling with lightning.

"We can climb the tower!" Ja'kira suggested. "Shoot it from above, in clear visibility from all of this smoke and fire!"

"Are you mad?" snapped Irileth. "You climb up there and you will die!"

"Then I'll die fighting for Whiterun!" Ja'kira hissed, lashing her tail. She turned and began to sprint towards the tower, as the dragon swept low overhead. It let out a snarling hiss, and lunged towards Ja'kira, but she swerved abruptly out of the way with more speed than Ralof could have believed possible.

_But...but what am I seeing? This is Whiterun...this is the western watchtower...where am I?_ Ralof had a strange awareness in him that told him that he wasn't here, that he actually was on his way back to Windhelm at this very moment. _And how is Ja'kira even alive? I watched her die...I saw her die!_

And then the colours darkened and Ralof felt consciousness and sense return to him, and all the aches of his fall returned in a flash. He opened his eyes. The smoke and the heat of the fire rolled around him, and he heard the dragon roar once again, its voice as loud as drums to Ralof's ears. He was still marveling over his vision. What had he seen?

He had seen Ja'kira. He had seen her alive, standing in his place, fighting the dragon with desperation burning in her heart. She had run towards the tower. She had said that she was to go and fight the dragon above the rising smoke...

_That's the way,_ he realized, as he pushed himself rapidly to his feet. _That's the way to wound the dragon. Fight it on top of the watchtower, not below it, where it can hide in the smoke._

He looked around for his axe and saw it lying nearby. He hurried towards it, and as he picked it up, a blaze of fire caught his eye. Ralof looked up to see the dragon spouting flames from its jaws, and the fire swept out into the open air, not aimed at anything in particular, but fiery embers rained down in its wake, crashing upon the ash-stained grass. It didn't seem to have noticed him. Ralof gripped his axe tightly, and began to run back towards the tower.

He reached it as the dragon passed overhead, and heard its snarl of frustration. Ralof couldn't check where Irileth and Sibjorn were, but they weren't around here. All that he was focusing on was reaching the top of the tower.

This tower reminded him very strongly of the one Ralof and his comrades had taken shelter in. It had the same style and circular staircase. Ralof quickly began to run up the nearest. Fortunately, the stairs didn't seem to be badly damaged. Already, he felt the air growing a bit cooler and less smoky the higher he got.

And then he burst out onto the rooftop. Ralof realized with a small thrill that he could see above the thick smoke, no longer feel the heat of the flames that burned beneath. And he saw the deep brown-and-grey dragon rise near him. Its eyes focused upon him.

"So!" laughed the dragon, and Ralof recoiled in astonishment of hearing it speak in his own language. "It seems that this mortal is insistent!"

Ralof gripped his axe, trying to hide his fear. "And you are cowardly!" he retorted.

The dragon's face twisted in rage. "Cowardly, am I, to take on a Hold alone?" it growled, and it slowed himself until it hovered high above Ralof, it wings beating on either side of it. "No, I am not cowardly. You are weak, and I am strong. And we will be unstoppable with the death of the Dovahkiin!"

Ralof stared at the dragon. There was that word again..._Dovahkiin_...

"You mean Ja'kira, don't you?" he shouted. "That Khajiit in Helgen that the other one slew!"

"Geh!" the dragon sneered. "My lord Alduin slew the Dovahkiin in your imprudent mortal city and now he is free to destroy the world!"

_Alduin?_ Shock flashed through Ralof. _The World-Eater...? He's here, in Nirn?_

"I sense your surprise," growled the dragon. "And I sense the recognition in your gaze. You were in the burning city and you saw my lord with your own two eyes."

_Holy...oh, sweet Talos...that was _him_ who destroyed Helgen? That was _Alduin_!?_

"Unfortunately," Ralof said, trying to get over his confusion and fear, tightening his grip on his axe, "it seems that your lord is as mortal as the rest of us. If he really is a God, then how could I have hurt him?"

Now it was the dragon's turn to be surprised. "It was you? You were the one who threw the weapon in vengeance to the Dovahkiin?"

Ralof straightened and retorted, "And I'll do it again, any time, for Skyrim."

His hand moved, and the axe of Whiterun flew from his grip. Even though it wasn't built to be a throwing weapon, it spun through the air pretty well, and the edge of the bronze blade on the axe met its mark, before the astonished dragon could move. The axe buried itself deeply in its chest and the dragon threw back its head and screamed a shriek of pure agony. Its wingbeats became jagged and awkward and the dragon vainly tried to stay up in the air. But blood poured freely from its gaping wound in its chest. With a final whimpering roar, the dragon fell back into the smoke.

Ralof stood stone still, hardly able to believe what he had just done. He heard the _thud_ as the dragon crashed down on the ground beneath him.

And then, he found himself moving. He turned and he ran back down the stairs, back to the first landing, and he emerged from the tower, landing on the ashy grass. Ralof stared around him; the fires, if he was not mistaken, were beginning to die away, flickering into tiny wisps of flame, and them embers, and then ash.

"Ralof..." he heard a voice say nearby. Ralof glanced around the tower to see the huge form of the brown dragon lying slumped at the foot of the tower, lying sprawled on its back with its wings taut and juddering beside its form. Surrounding it were several guardsmen and Irileth, though they kept a careful distance away from it. But it had been Sibjorn who had spoken, who stood apart from the others on the dragon's other side, his eyes for the weapon that had buried itself in the dragon's chest.

"Did you...?" Sibjorn couldn't even complete the question.

Numbly Ralof nodded. He could still hardly believe what he had done himself. _I just...I just killed a dragon. Or mortally wounded it._ It was still breathing, though harshly, and it was still alive, though its lifeblood poured quickly around it.

He found himself walking towards the fallen dragon, once terrible and feared, now lying limp and dying, its eyes wide with pain. As Ralof drew near to it, however, he heard it cough, and then begin to hoarsely laugh.

It was _laughing_. Laughing in the face of death.

"You fool," it whispered, its burning eyes trained upon Ralof. "Hio mey. You understand nothing."

Ralof was silent as he approached it. The dragon laughed. "We never _went_ anywhere all this time, as you mortals so readily believe," it rasped. "You have no idea of the power that my lord can wield. The power to pull dovah from the very earth itself."

"What do you mean?" Ralof demanded sharply.

The dragon cackled and hissed, "You will find that out for yourself. When I am found, and when I return, mortal, then I, Mirmulnir, will hunt you down. When my life is restored I will hunt you in particular, for ending my life."

"You mean that you will be resurrected?" Ralof questioned.

"More than that..." Mirmulnir chuckled. "My death will mean nothing. The Dovahkiin is dead. None of us can be truly destroyed because of this, you know, and when we fall, we will be reborn by his maw. And the world will fall into the shadow of the black wings unfurled, along with all who do not kneel before the mighty, and the true rulers of Nirn."

Ralof didn't understand, and nor did he care to. He instead walked right up to Mirmulnir, seized the handle of his axe, and jerked it roughly from his chest. The dragon let out a gasp and a squeal of pain, and then began to laugh once more, and Ralof shivered at the conviction that he had in his voice and his movements.

"End my life," sneered Mirmulnir. "And see what good it does."

Ralof gripped the bloodied war axe, and then, aware that all eyes were trained on him, he raised it above his head, and drove it deep into the throat of the beast. Mirmulnir's eyes widened in agony, and then dulled, his laughter fading along with his life, until there was nothing left in the dragon. Jaws still parted in laughter and eyes still wide in pain, he died and all life escaped his body, as his blood splattered on the grass around him.

Ralof pulled his axe from the dragon's corpse. Foul black blood covered the head of the weapon and gushed out from Mirmulnir's wounds. He looked up at the guards, who were staring at him in a mixture of deep respect and amazement, and at Irileth, who simply stared at the body of the dragon, as though hardly believing such a thing could exist.

Sibjorn was the first to break the silence.

"So it's dead."

"Yes," Delgar, the injured survivor of the attack, agreed. "The creature's dead at last."

"And you killed it," Sibjorn went on, staring in awe at Ralof. "You...you killed the dragon, with a single blow."

"Isn't a single blow all it takes to end the life of any creature?" Ralof said, remembering an old battle proverb from his own training days in Riverwood. "We just couldn't weaken it with other blows and injuries first."

And then suddenly blackness slammed over his vision, only to give way a moment later to what Ralof could only surpass as a third vision. The colours too bright, and too dark, in many places.

But he found himself watching another scene. The dragon lay dead at the foot of the tower, as he was now. Irileth and the guards surrounded it, exclaiming in wonderment at the slayer of the dragon, at how difficult it had been for it to have been slain. Ralof saw Ja'kira standing where he was now, pulling a sword, presumably her own, from the throat of the beast.

And that was when it began to happen. Ralof watched as suddenly the whole dragon's body lit up in a powerful orange glow, the colour of fire. Ja'kira let out a gasp of surprise and took a step backwards. Irileth cried a warning and she and the other guards retreated, but before Ja'kira could, a strange tendril of light suddenly ensnared her.

She let out a gasp, and didn't struggle any more. Her eyes were wide.

Ralof watched the dragon's body in astonishment. He watched as its scales, skin, blood and muscle all seemed to just burn away, vanishing into tiny flecks of ember that rose up and dissipated in the air. The outline of the dragon grew brighter and brighter, as more and more of its body was consumed. More and more tendrils of light caught around Ja'kira, who was slowly raising one of her hands, as though trying to touch the lights.

And then Ralof saw the orange lights become multicoloured, a mixture of blues, whites, reds and golds, and a hundred thousand beams of light wrapped around Ja'kira. The softest rushing sound was heard, like wind in the trees. Countless tendrils of the light emerged from the corpse of the dragon, which was now nothing more than a heap of smoking dark ivory bones, held together by bits of sinew. The lights completely enfolded the Khajiit, before they began to shimmer and die away, but for a moment, a rainbow-coloured aura surrounded Ja'kira, before that, too, faded.

And then silence shivered in its wake. Ja'kira slowly looked at herself in wonder, and then her eyes turned back to the bones of Mirmulnir, where seconds before it had been a flesh-and-bone body.

"What...what happened?" she whispered.

One of the guards stepped forward. And Ralof clearly heard the word that he spoke in nothing more than sheer amazement.

"Dragonborn."

Blackness slammed over Ralof's vision and he opened his eyes to find himself back in the real world, released from the vision he had just seen. He realized that he was breathing hard, as though he had really been there. As though he had seen it happen. His eyes flashed to Mirmulnir but the dragon was not a smoking skeleton. He lay motionless, colourless, and quite dead.

"So what happens now?" Sibjorn asked quietly, and Ralof realized that only a few moments must have passed in the time it took for him to have the vision.

"What happens," said Irileth, "is that we remain behind and make sure that overgrown lizard is really dead, and make sure that there aren't more of them about."

She looked up, almost warily, at Ralof, and she said, "I think it best if you return to Whiterun right away and let the Jarl know what happened here, Stormcloak. That the dragon is dead and it won't be troubling Whiterun anymore."

Ralof slowly nodded. "Right. I...I think I need to speak with Farengar, too."

_If he knows the language of the dragons,_ he thought,_ then he'll know what Dovahkiin means._

And it was the truth that hit him, as he turned away from Mirmulnir's corpse and headed towards the road, stepping over the ring of ashes that used to be a blazing torrent, but had died with their caster. What had happened with Ja'kira and Mirmulnir in his vision. And what the guard had called her. What it had meant.

Dragonborn.

Alduin. He was here.

She was, too.

And Ralof remembered that she was dead.

Ja'kira was dead. Was she...was she...no. It couldn't be true. It just couldn't be. Because then that would mean...

He found himself breaking into a run. He ran back up the road, his own terror catching in his throat. If the World-Eater was here, if Alduin was here, then...the world was going to end. And the Dragonborn...a mortal born with a soul of a dragon...wasn't he or she meant to stop him, to stand against him?

No. Farengar would know the legends, the prophecy. He would know what 'Dovahkiin' meant.

Though Ralof had a bad feeling he had already guessed what it meant.

He was nearly at the stables when suddenly blackness crashed over him yet again. Ralof tried to open his eyes, and found that the image revealed itself to him as quickly as the three other times it had done. The colours too bright and too dark, but everything familiar. Including what Ralof saw.

Ja'kira was running as fast as she could back to Whiterun, as though her life depended on it. Ralof could sense her confusion and amazement. And then a sound like thunder tore through the skies and she staggered. The horses in the stables reared and whinnied in their fright, and men shouted in astonishment.

And then he heard many husky, elderly voices, unified into one strong voice, cry one word into the heavens. A word that Ralof had heard, and had now dreaded to hear, dreaded to believe.

"DOVAHKIIN!"

And then silence. Ja'kira straightened, staring in confusion at the great mountain Throat of the World where the strange words had come from. Words that she, too, remembered and recognized. She hesitated for a moment longer, before more uncertainly, she began to head back up the road towards Whiterun.

Ralof felt the vision die around him. He opened his eyes. Looking around him, he realized that he was standing in the exact same spot that Ja'kira had been in the vision when the words had been shouted from the mountain.

He looked up towards it. It was known that the Greybeards, ancient priests of the Voice, resided on the frozen slopes of that mountain.

_The summons...they were summoning the Dragonborn...Ja'kira..._

Ja'kira.

Ralof stared wide-eyed at the mountain. All the evidence was pointing to her. That she was Dragonborn. That she would have been Dragonborn. The word, Dovahkiin...that must have been its translation in the dragon-tongue. What else could it possibly mean?

And what did it mean if she was dead? That she no longer existed on this world?

Stunned at the visions he had been receiving, at what he was _seeing_ in those visions, the confused Stormcloak continued on his way, slower and more uncertainly, towards Whiterun and to Dragonsreach...uncertain if the news he was to deliver to the Jarl would be good or catastrophic.

* * *

When he entered Dragonsreach, Ralof wasn't exactly sure what to expect. He headed up the stairs to the main landing to see that Jarl Balgruuf was already waiting in his throne, Proventus Avenicci beside him. A Nord that Ralof hadn't seen before, but who obviously seemed to know Balgruuf quite well, stood beside him. Farengar was beside the Nord. They were quietly discussing a matter between them, but they looked up as they heard Ralof approach them.

"You're back," Proventus commented, sounding surprised. "We doubted you would."

The Nord turned and glared at the Imperial and said, "No. _You_ doubted you would."

"Hrongar," said Jarl Balgruuf warningly. "We have more important matters to currently discuss." He turned to Ralof and said, "Well? Was the dragon there?"

Ralof nodded. He could remember his fight with it all too clearly now. "It had destroyed the watchtower long before we managed to arrive, but...but the dragon's dead now."

"So, the guardsmen managed to kill it?" Farengar checked. "I hope it's still mostly intact, and that it can be brought up to Dragonsreach for research."

"I doubt it could fit through the door," Ralof retorted. "And it wasn't the guardsmen who killed it, either. I did."

A surprised silence hung around the gathered people for a moment, before the Nord, Hrongar, said quietly, "By yourself?"

"By myself," Ralof confirmed. "I don't know how I did it, how I managed to hit the dragon when the others failed. But that isn't what is concerning me at the moment." He glanced towards the court mage and said, "Farengar, what can you tell me in depth about the Dragonborn prophecy?"

Farengar looked surprised for a moment, before he said, "Well, ah, I've searched through my notes and formed the conclusion that when the dragons return, so, apparently, should a Dragonborn, a mortal born with the soul of a dragon, and whose destiny it is to destroy the World-Eater, Alduin."

Jarl Balgruuf closed his eyes for a moment. "Don't say the name of that hated beast," he said firmly.

"Apologies, Jarl." Farengar looked curiously at Ralof and said, "Why do you ask?"

"Farengar," said Ralof carefully, "what would happen if there...wasn't a Dragonborn?"

Farengar looked affronted by the very idea. "That's impossible! Prophecies so solid they've even been engraved into _rock_ have foretold the coming of the Dragonborn!"

"Not like she never arrived...that she...well, she's dead, before she could complete the prophecy."

There was confusion in Farengar's face as he took in Ralof's hesitant words.

"Ralof," said Jarl Balgruuf quietly but firmly, and Ralof turned back to his Jarl. "You speak as if you once knew this supposed Dragonborn."

Ralof lowered his eyes. "There is one thing I must confirm. Farengar, does the word 'Dovahkiin' mean 'Dragonborn'?"

Farengar nodded. "It can't mean anything else. Dovah – dragon. Kiin – born. Dovahkiin – Dragonborn."

_Oh, Gods...so it's true..._

"What's happened?" Hrongar asked sharply. "What do you mean, the Dragonborn's dead?"

Ralof drew a shaky breath. "She was in Helgen," he said quietly. "She...didn't make it out."

There was silence after his words. And then Jarl Balgruuf, his voice very concerned, said, "Tell me, what was her name?"

"Ja'kira."

Hrongar looked shocked. "That's not a Nord name. How do you know she was the Dragonborn?"

"Trust me," Ralof said firmly, "I know. I...I saw her die, right in front of me. I couldn't do anything. The dragon got to her first and...and it killed her. With a jet of fire. It called her 'Dovahkiin' before it killed her."

"Is it possible," said Farengar softly, "that the dragon was mistaken?"

"It wasn't just any dragon, Farengar...I think it was the World-Eater. It was overjoyed when it killed her," Ralof said. Farengar's face grew pale, but he went on. "And it was distracted enough for me to throw my axe into its head. But as well as that...I've been having...well, visions is all I can call them."

"Visions?" repeated Proventus.

"I had my first in Bleak Falls Barrow. I think that I must have stumbled into one of your Word Walls, Farengar. It was covered with ancient runes engraved into the face of a curved bit of rock. When I touched one of them, I had a sudden vision of Ja'kira...well, _absorbing_ something from the rune. Kind of like lights."

Farengar looked startled. "I heard from ancient texts that the Dragonborns had the ability to extract a certain kind of power from Word Walls, which they could use to improve their Thu'um. Words written in the dragon-tongue, or Draconic." He frowned. "The vision that you had...it must have been some kind of memory, or an event that should have happened. Because if the Dragonborn truly is dead...then it could seriously mess up fate's delicate web."

Ralof glanced towards the wizard and said, "What do you mean?"

Farengar sighed, frowning slightly, and then said, "How to explain this? The Dragonborn's fate was...well, shall we say _paved_ out by the Gods long before she was born. And the path is expected to be followed. The Gods are very careful when they carve 'certain' destinies, such as the one that the Dragonborn had. She was definitely meant to live and face Alduin alive. And because a dragon killed her before she was able to complete that thread, walk further along her path of fate, her prophecy was broken. Fate was _broken_, something which hasn't happened in, I believe, ever."

Ralof felt a shiver of fear pass through him, and he felt as though he fully didn't understand yet. "What else does it mean?"

"It means that the dragons are going to do everything that the prophecy was against," said Farengar. "They are going to conquer Skyrim, then Tamriel, and then Nirn, under the influence of Alduin, if he truly has returned—which, I'd say, he already has, given the dragons and their sudden rising. And that all the parts of the prophecy are broken. Brothers never will wage war. Time never will be turned back. The dark dragon's lies may never even be silenced. He may destroy the world."

Ralof frowned. " 'May'? So there's still a chance?"

"I'm uncertain," said Farengar. "But I've heard once in my studies from scholars who also spend time on the philosophical subject of fates, destinies and prophecies, and the fragile balance that hangs between them, that very powerful destinies, such as the Dragonborn's, still continue to make some kind of impact on everyday life. That's how solidly paved out the Gods had done with the path of the Dragonborn. They wanted Alduin destroyed and with the mortal champion dead, that's pretty much impossible now." He looked carefully at Ralof and said, "But, as I was saying, powerfully broken prophecies solidly paved out by the Gods, and then destroyed beneath them before the path could be trodden, still make impact on life that goes on. Kind of in a way that nostalgia comes at the worst of times."

_Boy, do I know that feeling,_ Ralof thought. He began to understand. "Would my visions and these impacts have something to do with each other?"

"They would have _everything_ to do with each other," Farengar said. "I'm not exactly certain on it myself, but I've heard from my good friends up at the College, that should one follow in the footsteps of a broken destiny, they would begin to receive the impacts. In your case, the visions. You were completing events and cycles that the Dragonborn would have done in life, and you were receiving mere glimpses of what-would-have-been, or Alternate Certainties, as I call it."

"So what I was seeing," Ralof said slowly, "was the path that Ja'kira would have taken. The things she would have done, should she have lived, and should we had gone our separate ways. Absorbing the power of the dragons out from a Word Wall...fighting the dragon on the tower top..."

"You received more?" Jarl Balgruuf asked.

"In the battle with the dragon," Ralof replied. "A second one came when I was knocked unconscious for a few seconds, after I was thrown across the battlefield. I saw Ja'kira tell Irileth that she was going to fight the dragon on the top of the watchtower. That was how I managed to kill it. I threw the axe into its chest and it fell mortally wounded. When I killed the dragon, I received a third vision, of Ja'kira absorbing the dragon's soul. I also received a fourth, on my way back to Whiterun. I saw the Greybeards summoning Ja'kira to High Hrothgar."

"My God..." Hrongar breathed. "Her death really messed things up..."

Farengar was looking just as shocked. "You may be receiving more of those, Ralof," the court mage said earnestly. "You were the one to watch her die, and you were the one to hurt the dragon, and you have walked in her footsteps, though somewhat unwillingly, for several days now. These Alternate Certainties may come more often...my, this certainly is a very intriguing scenario, as interesting as my work on the dragons! I must get into contact with my old friends and tell them about this discovery..."

"Farengar," said Jarl Balgruuf firmly, "I hope that this won't preside over your work on the dragons. If what the Stormcloak speaks is true, and that this Dragonborn character is dead, we'll need to figure out how exactly to hurt and destroy these creatures, how to defend ourselves from them. I believe that more may come."

Farengar nodded. "Yes, my Jarl. I'm busy deciphering the Dragonstone, and soon I should be done, and then I can get back to studying the weakness in dragonhide and telltale signs of the certain elements they prefer to use in battle...so much work!" he added, shaking his head distractedly as he turned and headed back to his study.

For a moment, there was silence, and then Ralof said, "So...what happens now?"

"What happens now," said Jarl Balgruuf, turning his attention back to Ralof, "is that I give you firstly my formal thanks in killing the monster. It's good to know that mortal men can indeed kill these immortal beasts."

Ralof inclined his head slightly, accepting the Jarl's gratitude.

"I also want you to keep that axe," Jarl Balgruuf added. "I have little use for it now, and it suits you better. You also have my permission to enter and leave the Hold's territory as much as you wish. I will tell my guards so that they will know to treat you with as much courtesy as the rest of the people."

"I'd like that very much," Ralof said, remembering rather grimly the first time they had met.

Perhaps Jarl Balgruuf remembered this too, because he chuckled and said, "I was quite wrong about you indeed, Ralof. Quite wrong. I hope you accept my apologies at your attempted execution."

"It's not the first time," Ralof said modestly.

Balgruuf the Greater paused for a moment, before he turned to Hrongar and said, "Brother, I'd like you to head down to the Grey-Manes this evening. Vignar should be having dinner with the Companions again, if he won't be in his house. Tell them that I'd like to see him when he has a moment."

Hrongar looked surprised by this, and then he simply nodded and headed away.

"Proventus," Balgruuf added, "I'd like you to draft a letter."

"Of course, lord, and may I ask to whom?" the Imperial steward graciously asked.

"General Tullius," said the Jarl.

Ralof frowned for a moment, but Balgruuf continued. "Tell him that I've finally decided my place in the war. And that place is with Talos."

Both Ralof and Proventus were both too stunned to move for a moment. Then Proventus found his tongue and nodded and said, "Y-yes, my Jarl. At once, sir." He hurried away almost nervously, and threw a suspicious glance at Ralof as he departed the hall.

When they were more or less alone, Ralof turned to Jarl Balgruuf and said, "You've decided to join Ulfric's cause?"

"While you were gone," Jarl Balgruuf replied, "I thought about what you had told me, what Ulfric was fighting for, and why he was doing it. I came to realize that I loved Skyrim more than I loved the Empire. And that with my hesitation, I have been insulting Talos. I believe that now it is time for Whiterun to play its part in the war." He paused for a moment, and then he said, "As well as that, Ralof, you have done Whiterun great services in both recovering the Dragonstone and slaying a dragon. You warned me of the dangers of Riverwood, survived Bleak Falls Barrow and saved many lives in the death of that brute of a flying lizard. If I had the wisdom of Jarl Igrod Ravencrone in Morthal, I myself would certainly claim that this is a sign, a sign that the Stormcloaks are being guarded by the Gods, and that they approve of the work that Ulfric does."

After another pause, Jarl Balgruuf added, "Thirdly, I just hate the damned Thalmor."

Ralof smiled and bowed his head low. "I will alert Ulfric Stormcloak of your allegiance to the war immediately. Rest assured, Jarl Balgruuf, you will not regret this."

With five territories now under control by the Stormcloaks, Ralof realized that the stalemate the war had previously been in had been lifted. There would be more recruits, more goods and supplies and more supporters for Ulfric and the Stormcloaks. The Stormcloaks were now in greater power over the four other Holds and therefore the Empire. _Thanks to Balgruuf's allegiance, we may just win this war._

He was amazed when he saw Jarl Balgruuf smile warmly to him.

"You know, Ralof, I don't think I will regret this choice," he said. "I'll look forward to the day when I can start freely worshipping Talos again."

As Ralof turned to leave, Jarl Balgruuf had one more surprise for him.

"When the war is done," said Balgruuf, "and providing that you're still alive, there is room in my court for a new Thane. You've proven yourself to be an honourable and trustworthy warrior, Ralof. Perhaps you would consider this new post?"

Ralof turned in surprise and near amazement. _Thane? Really?_

"I would be honoured, Jarl Balgruuf," he said slowly. "But are you sure?"

"I've had worse Thanes than you in my time as Jarl," Balgruuf the Greater responded indifferently. "You are free to go. But Ralof...you remember what I told you before you departed to fight that dragon?"

Ralof nodded slightly. "You thought I was blessed by a God."

"I thought, for a moment, that you could have been the one."

"A second after I killed that dragon, I thought I might have been, too."

After a moment, all Jarl Balgruuf said was, "You would have made a fine Dragonborn, Ralof."

_Dragonborn_. The name thudded in Ralof's mind. Yet again, for the hundredth time, he saw Ja'kira die. Heard her scream, heard the dragon's laughter. He remembered Farengar's explanation on Alternate Certainties, the broken prophecy, the shattered fate trail. And he couldn't help but wonder with a cold shudder of fear down his spine...what was going to happen to Nirn if Alduin had returned, and there was nobody who could hope to destroy him? Were the End Times truly here?

* * *

_Claimer: I own the ideas about the Alternate Certainties. Don't copy without my permission. Thanks for reading. Please review, as always. They always make me happy, whatever they say, because it shows that you've taken the time to appreciate my little work of writing I put out for the world to enjoy. Another chapter will come out soon after another chapter of The Huntress is uploaded, followers to that story reading this one. Because I know it's a cliffhanger I need to stop hanging!_


	7. Return of the Warrior

_A/N: Apologies that this took ages to post! It's here now: please read and enjoy :) Hopefully the next chapter should be out next week_

* * *

_CHAPTER SEVEN: RETURN OF THE WARRIOR_

The first time that Ralof had seen Windhelm, he hadn't thought too much of it. He had, after all, only seen the outside of it. He had seen frost-covered stone walls that rose high, mighty icy tundras surrounding the city left and right, rising mountains spanning across the river and forming a rugged plain behind. It was always snowing here, freezing cold to other races, and seemed to be a dormant town. Smoke columns rose and were quickly torn apart by the wild winds that blew across this area from the Sea of Ghosts, where the river that flowed beneath Windhelm's bridge and alongside the harbour only encouraged the cutting breezes.

But then he had entered the city, and my, how his opinion of the place changed. It was a mighty, grand and magnificent place. Huge, elaborately-carved houses made entirely of rock rose majestically from the ground. Enormous braziers blazed in each corner of the districts, providing warmth and light. In the marketplace, there were many stalls, selling all sorts of trinkets and essentials so the residents never had to go far to get what they needed for the larder. The city was bustling full of life.

There was, of course, the matter of the gray-skins. Not many Nords treated them with the respect they wanted. Or deserved. Ralof found his opinion towards the Dunmer had changed since his wild experience alongside Irileth. They took up the Gray Quarter of Windhelm, living in the rugged slums, and nursed a bitter dislike of the Nords.

But the Palace of the Kings threw everything else within Windhelm into shadow. It towered like a mountain on its own, balconies spanning from the mighty stone structure, two huge brass doors leading into the enormous and spacious halls that lay within. A magnificent banner of the mark of Windhelm, the bronze bear, sprawled over the doors and lined every pillaring within the palace. And the palace, though seemingly empty and letting the cool frosty winds whistle through, seemed to demand a certain aura of respect, as Jarl Ulfric did. His very presence was enough to make most people nervous, particularly when it was known what he could do with his Voice.

Ralof could remember very clearly the day that he had been accepted into the ranks of the Stormcloaks. After a short journey to the bitterly-cold Serpentstone's Isle, and eliminating several ice wraiths alongside a pair of other young Stormcloaks-to-bes—Ralof could still remember their names, Enja and Thakor, though he hadn't seen them in a long time—he had taken the Oath and been given the armour that he had worn. He had taken the Oath seven months ago and he had not regretted it once.

Even so, he couldn't help but feel slightly apprehensive as Windhelm drew near. A brief night in Whiterun, and hiring a carriage to the city as dawn broke, and a long day of gently being rocked back and forth much in the same way he had been on his way to Helgen, let him fester and brood over memories of the mighty stone city. But it had been nearly a week since he had escaped Helgen. How many days had that been now...five? Six? He couldn't really remember. The days had gone by so swiftly that he could hardly believe the events that had happened in the process.

Hopefully, Jarl Ulfric would be back in Windhelm by now, as would any survivors from Helgen. Ralof was certain that Ulfric had survived; he hadn't heard of his death, so that was a hopeful thought.

The carriage driver leaned back and commented, "Quite the sight, eh, Stormcloak?" as they rounded the slippery ice-coated cobblestones and crossed over the bridge that spanned towards the stables and the road to Blacklight in distant Morrowind.

Ralof frowned slightly. "No sneer this time, eh?"

"Hard to sneer at a dragonslayer," said the driver, and he sounded honest enough. "As well as that...Whiterun is Stormcloak territory now, and I think I prefer to keep my head on my shoulders."

"Wise decision," Ralof said.

They pulled up just outside the stable. The stablemaster, a friendly Altmer named Ulundil, rushed out from the shelter of one of the stalls where he had been grooming one of the occupants of the stables, to tend to the visitors.

"What may I do for you? The usual?" Ulundil asked breathlessly, rubbing his gloved hands together in a desperate attempt to keep himself warm.

Ralof dismounted from the cart as the driver and the stablemaster engaged in a general conversation of tending to the weary carthorse's needs and to the general device of transportation; the driver was now complaining of frost eroding the woodwork around the wheels.

Counting out twenty septims and placing it into a small pouch, Ralof tossed the money over, and the driver caught it. "Thanks for the lift," he said.

"You've been my politest customer yet," commented the driver, as he pocketed the gold. "Have fun killing Legionnaires." His voice was sardonic.

Ulundil glanced towards Ralof, and he saw the Elf's eyes widen with surprise. "Why, if it isn't Ralof!" he declared, nearly genially. "We've been long awaiting your return."

"I'm amazed you can even remember me," Ralof commented.

Ulundil knowingly tapped his skull and said, "We Elves have pretty good memories. At least, the Altmer do. Not sure that I can say the same about my cousins. As well as that, Ralof, you've made quite the reputation. Don't think we haven't heard about Whiterun."

Ralof cocked one eyebrow. "You've heard about that?"

"Oh, definitely. News travels fast in these parts," smirked Ulundil, looking crafty. "And our new allies sent a message that arrived here barely last evening, and the news spread quickly. It seems you've become a little hero, Ralof, and I daresay that Ulfric will say the same."

"I'm honoured," said Ralof. "What have you heard about my heroic actions?"

"Only that you killed a dragon and effectively bought a Hold single-handedly for the war, thus breaking the stalemate that Ulfric and his men have been stuck in for several long, tedious months," Ulundil listed off. "The tides of war have turned in your favour and you are the cause of that, Ralof of Riverwood. Be careful; you may be mobbed by adoring fans when you head indoors."

"Oh, sweet Talos, I hope not. I can hardly compare to a hero."

And Ralof felt discomfort flash through him as he remembered the grim news he had learned yesterday. He still wasn't certain what was going to happen to the world now that Ja'kira was dead and the World-Eater was here.

He'd talk to Ulfric. The man had survived Helgen. He had known Ja'kira, for a brief amount of time. He'd know what to do concerning the matters of Alduin's return to Mundus. Hopefully, he would know.

"I'd best not keep Jarl Ulfric waiting," Ralof muttered, as he headed away. Ulundil called out a farewell, but Ralof barely heard it.

He headed across the wide stone bridge that formed a thoroughfare in and out of the city, besides that of the harbour. The icy snowflakes that gently peppered his skin as he crossed soothed Ralof, and the sounds of the river that flowed beneath the bridge, of distant waves lapping at the hulls of boats moored into the docks, were equally as calming. Windhelm, Ralof remembered, had been a second home to him when he departed Riverwood at the beginning of Sun's Dawn to take part in the newly-formed war.

Approaching the gates, he recognized several comrades. They glanced at him and one of them, beneath the steel rim of his helm, said, "Well, look who returns after a little adventure."

"Ignore Jurad, he's just jealous," said the second guardsman, his voice warm with respect and friendliness. "Welcome home anyway, son of Skyrim. Ulfric's expecting you."

"I'd expect him to," said Ralof, pleased and self-conscious at their humility to him. He headed back into the city without further conversation, and almost at once, he felt that he was truly home.

As he headed up to the Palace of the Kings, people whispered to one another and respectfully dipped their heads to him, or called out his name with pride. Patrolling Stormcloaks would pause in their duties and come over and welcome him back with handshakes and praise for his actions. Ralof even ran into a few friends he had made while out in the front lines, and they greeted him with embraces and eager questions about how he had managed to kill a dragon, and wanting to know of his experiences in Helgen.

"Meet us in Candlehearth tonight, brother!" they called as they headed away.

Ralof grinned. He knew he had become very popular. Remembering the disliking stares and glares he had received, and the hostility from the gate-guardsmen when he first tried to enter Whiterun since joining the war, it felt good to come to a city where he wasn't just appreciated and accepted; he was revered and looked upon with great respect.

His content gave way to apprehension as he headed into the Palace of the Kings. At first glance, the halls seemed empty, save for the Stormcloaks who were guarding the inner doorway, and the steward, Jorleif, who was busy setting out the table for dinner. As the brass doors clanged shut behind him, Jorleif looked up, and his lined face gave way to a delighted smile.

"Ralof, you have returned!"

"I'm glad that I'm expected," said Ralof.

Jorleif approached him. "My goodness, it's been many days...but you haven't been idle," he said. "If the letter speaks true, then you have done many services for Windhelm and also for Skyrim."

"Letter?"

"From Jarl Balgruuf the Greater, of course," said Jorleif. "Stating his allegiance to the Stormcloak cause, giving leave for Ulfric to use the mighty Whiterun Hold as freeway between his territories, and giving us extra food for our soldiers. You've done very well, Ralof. Ulfric and Galmar are in the war room, already making plans to conquer Falkreath."

"Thank you," Ralof said formally. He headed past the steward and approached the war room, where he could already hear his Jarl's voice echoing, discussing plans of war, of battle, with his trusted lieutenant, Galmar.

He didn't even need to head that far. Halfway across the hall, Galmar suddenly materialized in the doorway, and his weathered, scarred face broke into a smirk.

"You're late," he said.

"Nice to see you too, Galmar," Ralof replied.

Galmar snorted. "Well, hurry up. He hasn't got all day."

Ralof followed Galmar into the war room, to see several familiar sights. He had been here a few times, when he had been chosen to deliver status reports from the camps. Ulfric and Galmar were rarely seen out in the hall being idle; they were more often than not here, in this secluded stone room, making plans. A large, brown table sat in the centre of the room, with a huge brownish map of Skyrim thrown across it and pinned down with nails, and dotted with blue and red flags that marked the territories controlled by either the Rebellion or by the Legion.

The large, powerfully-built man clad in storm-coloured chainmail and dark grey bear fur now turned around, golden-brown shaggy hair twisted back into a loose knot and green eyes bright with recognition, and a surprising amount of geniality. Ulfric Stormcloak's face creased in to a smile.

"I should leave you on your own more often, if you're bringing with you this much victory," he said, and clapped Ralof on the shoulder.

Trying not to stagger under the powerful force of the blow, as Ulfric was a strong man, Ralof shakily smiled and said, "It was...quite the experience, my Jarl."

"Then you'll have to tell me all about it," said Ulfric. "But you've done very well, Ralof. I leave you for a few days and the war shifts beneath you. My God, you seem to be blessed by them with your luck."

Ralof had never heard his Jarl sound so pleased.

"He isn't just a politician, Ulfric," commented Galmar from behind Ralof, as he sidled unobtrusively up to the table and leaned casually against it. "He's a damned good fighter, too. Good to know in case any more dragons come swinging around."

"Yes..." Ulfric's eyes became thoughtful.

Ralof waited, and Ulfric eventually said, "Come, Ralof. Let's hear how you did it, starting from when we parted ways."

Galmar snorted. "How about we start to how he managed to escape crumbling Helgen at all?"

"Bah, we've heard that," Ulfric said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "The last thing I remember was seeing that dragon suddenly scorch the courtyard with flame. And then throwing back its head and screaming." His brow furrowed. "Something about a Dragonborn."

Ralof felt a nervous jolt in his stomach mingle with his momentary surprise. "You...understood it?"

"Remember that I studied for a period of my life in High Hrothgar," the Jarl of Windhelm reflected. "In the duration of my training, I learned snippets of Draconic, the dragons' tongue. 'Dovahkiin' was one of the first non-Shouts that I learned to do with the speech. What happened in the courtyard?"

There was a slight trace of urgency, and even hesitation, in Ulfric's voice. And Ralof felt the bottom drop out of his stomach as the truth slammed into him, yet again. Ja'kira was dead. The Dragonborn was dead.

"Do you...remember the Khajiit woman in Helgen, Jarl?" Ralof asked. "Ja'kira?"

Ulfric's brow creased for a moment, and then his expression cleared. "Ah, yes. She shared our cart. Had more guts than that cowardly thief ever did."

"There was a Khajiit woman?" Galmar asked keenly.

"Oh, Galmar, have I never told you? She was just a refugee from Elsweyr, caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Poor thing. Did she ever escape, Ralof? Get to find her uncle Risaad?"

"Jarl, she wasn't _just_ a refugee." Ralof's mouth went dry, but he went on. "She was...she would have been...the Dovahkiin."

The expression changed rapidly on Ulfric's face. He drained slightly of colour. Galmar simply looked skeptical.

"Are you saying that this Khajiit woman was the Dragonborn of Nord legend?" the lieutenant said cynically. "That's a good one. Now tell me the one about the troll who gives presents to the kids at Honourhall Orphanage on New Life Festival."

Ralof flashed with anger. "You understood nothing, Galmar. Nothing of what I've been through, the days that have passed for me to learn the complete truth. Do you think all this is coincidental? She _was_ the Dragonborn. She was meant to have lived. She was meant to fight the World-Eater, not get killed by him!"

"Wait a moment, Ralof," said Ulfric, his expression grim and troubled. "Are you saying...?" His face grew paler as the truth hit him.

Ralof somberly nodded. "It wasn't just any dragon, my Jarl. The World-Eater has returned, and now he is unmatched."

Even Galmar had to believe this. Both men were silent for a long time after this troubling statement was published.

"But...he can still be hurt," Ralof said after a while. "I...guess that the World-Eater can still be damaged while he's here in this world. Or maybe it was just a lucky hit..."

"You struck Alduin?" asked Ulfric.

"With my axe, the one that one of my comrades threw me, when we were just beginning our escape," Ralof confirmed. "Of course, I only succeeded in pissing him off...but I was just so angry. So shocked. He killed Ja'kira right in front of my eyes. She was defenseless. She couldn't have hoped to defend herself. And so I threw my axe into his head."

Ulfric was stunned for a moment, before his face shadowed over once again.

"The legends say that only a Dragonborn can destroy Alduin," he said. "And if the Dragonborn is dead..."

"I still don't believe that a Khajiit—come now, a _cat_, of all beings—could be the Dragonborn," frowned Galmar.

Ralof gritted his teeth. "Perhaps, if you could let me finish explaining, you will understand," he said with frustration.

Galmar opened his mouth, about to respond, but Ulfric commandingly raised a hand and said without turning around, "Galmar, I'd advise you to listen to what Ralof has to say. You can get on with your skepticism once Ralof has made his point."

Ralof nodded gratefully towards his Jarl before he began.

He described how he had found his way through the network of tunnels and passages underground, escaping the wrath of the dragon and the crumbling keep. He had gone to Riverwood first, and found his family, and stayed in Riverwood for the night, letting Gerdur tend to his injuries. He had decided to speak to the Jarl of Whiterun about sending reinforcements to bolster Riverwood in case the dragon came back.

"And then you persuaded him to join our side?" Galmar interrupted. "When all other attempts failed?"

"Actually," said Ralof, "I very nearly had my execution carried out then and there, right in Dragonsreach." He explained about his near-decapitation, and was rescued when Farengar offered him a chance to find the Dragonstone in Bleak Falls Barrow in exchange for his life.

"The Jarl allowed me to do this favour for Farengar," Ralof said. "I couldn't have gotten out of it even if I had tried. He threatened to kill me if I refused, and if I never went to the Barrow then he'd have Gerdur executed."

Ulfric's jaw clenched. "Bastard," he said.

"He wanted to make sure. I mean, he was trying to stay neutral before."

"So how did you manage to win the Jarl's support?" asked Galmar, beginning to sound less cynical. "He nearly killed you."

"And the Barrow did, too. It was a death-or-death mission, virtually." Ralof couldn't help shivering as he recollected his experiences throughout the Barrow. How he had seen a vision, faced the Draugr Scourge, been on the receiving end of a full Unrelenting Force Shout (Ulfric looked particularly impressed that Ralof had even survived) and returned to Whiterun after a night of rest, healing and re-encounter of Hadvar in Riverwood.

"Hadvar made it out?" asked Ulfric, startled.

"Apparently so," Ralof replied. "He's probably back in Solitude now."

Galmar glared at Ralof. "You should have killed him. One less Legionnaire to worry about."

Ralof returned the hostile stare. "He was like a brother to me, a brother that I never had, in our youth," he snarled. "We were the closest of friends. To kill him there and then in our hometown—the place of our origins, by Shor's bones!—would be no less than murder, and an insult to both of us."

"Hadvar is an _enemy_," growled Galmar. "He is not your friend or brother anymore, Ralof. The sooner you accept this, the sooner sense returns to that thick skull of yours."

"It's fortunate he has a thick skull," said Ulfric. "Those with weak skulls tend to have their heads smashed in. Galmar, I asked you to be quiet and to let Ralof finish. Ralof, continue. I sense you haven't explained everything."

Ralof obeyed, recounting how he had returned to Whiterun and spoken with Jarl Balgruuf. They had shared opinions on the war. "Jarl Balgruuf was deluded about your intentions, my Jarl," Ralof explained to Ulfric. "I told him what your cause was, what you were fighting for. Balgruuf's opinion of you changed when he learned of your loyalty to our homeland."

"There ain't a man more loyal than Ulfric," Galmar agreed. "Damn, Ralof, never knew you had it in you. You sure you're not a long-lost Septim?"

"I'm sure. Riverwood has been my family's home for generations."

"Pity if you were. You'd be a Dragonborn, then."

Ralof felt an uncomfortable chill pass through him. More uneasily, he continued, describing how he had been sent to fight the dragon at the Western Watchtower because of his experience in Helgen. How during the fight, after the fight and on his way back to Whiterun, he had received visions, similar to the one he had had in the Barrow.

"What are they?" Ulfric asked.

"I found out when I returned to Whiterun, my Jarl. Farengar called them 'Alternate Certainties'," Ralof explained. "They were glimpses into the life that Ja'kira should have had. I was unknowingly following in the footsteps she should have trodden. Because fate was broken, it's beginning to mess things up in this world. At least, these are Farengar's presumptions. He wants to do more research on it. But Jarl Balgruuf wants him to focus on the dragons."

Ulfric scowled. "I would think that these Alternate Certainties would be just as important as the dragons. They have everything to do with each other, after all. And if the World-Eater truly has returned, and the Dragonborn is dead...what is meant to happen to us?"

Ralof shrugged. "Farengar had no answer. He was uncertain of what would happen. Maybe we'll just be destroyed. Maybe the World-Eater will devour us all and that'd be the end of it, and there's nothing we can do."

"There has to be some way," argued Ulfric, his brow furrowed. "In the legends Alduin was defeated once before by three Ancient Nord Heroes."

"But they're just legends," said Galmar.

"Or they could be truth," Ulfric countered. "The dragons seem to be returning, but we have to find a way to protect ourselves against them."

Ralof frowned suddenly. "My Jarl, the dragon that I killed...Mirmulnir, I think his name was...he didn't seem afraid at all to be put down. He said that Alduin had the power to 'pull _dovah_ from the very earth itself'."

The Jarl of Windhelm was perplexed. "What did the dragon mean?"

Ralof shrugged. "Farengar?" he offered.

"He and Wuunferth should get together sometime," Galmar grumbled. "And stop leaving us to blunder in the dark."

"Now that Farengar is an essential ally, that can be put to action," Ulfric decided curtly. "I'll have a word with him later on. In the meantime, dragons aside, the war has shifted in our favour, and it won't take long for Tullius to recognize the danger that he's in. Every moment now counts." He turned to Galmar and said, "I want you to send a cohort of Stormcloaks to bolster the camps in Hjaalmarch, Haafingar and The Reach. I don't think there is just the World-Eater to worry about anymore and we have to be prepared in case the dragons decide to have another go at the Stormcloaks."

Galmar nodded. "And Falkreath?"

"If all goes to plan soon enough, Falkreath will be in our control," said Ulfric decisively, his voice firm and deep with certainty. "We'll have another territory to add to the five that we now control. I need to ride to Whiterun to secure Jarl Balgruuf's allegiance." He turned his gaze to Ralof and said, "I need you to go to Falkreath and secure the soldiers there. Keep them prepared, and keep them on edge."

Ralof was honoured that he was being placed in charge of a camp. But then he realized something...he wasn't a general. He wasn't even a damned commander. He was just an infantryman of Ulfric. So why...?

Obviously sensing something of the sort, Ulfric chuckled and said, "I'm putting faith in you, boy. You're my Stormblade now, Ralof; a commander, and I sure hope you know what you're doing when you head out into Falkreath."

Ralof was stunned. _Me, a Stormblade?_

But he bowed slightly and accepted the title, still dazed at how swiftly things were moving. Three days ago...five days ago...six...he had been pretty much nothing, just a soldier to Ulfric's eye, devoted to the cause of liberating Skyrim. Now suddenly, he was a hero, a dragonslayer, a tide-turner, and a Stormblade, a commander of a cohort of Stormcloaks. He had won much of Ulfric's respect, and Jarl Balgruuf's, and yet...

Ralof still felt discontent. Somehow. He wasn't sure what was the matter with him.

"As a Stormblade, you also get a commander's armour," added Ulfric.

Ralof perked up slightly. "You mean the armour that Galmar wears?"

"Yes, the armour that I wear," Galmar confirmed drily. "What gave it away?"

"There should be a set in the armoury," said Ulfric. "I was wondering who was going to claim it. Well, it's yours now, unless you prove yourself unworthy to wear the armour. However, I doubt it. You may be young, Ralof, but you are strong, loyal and devoted, and for me that is enough."

Ralof dipped his head, acknowledging the praise. "I will do my best in Falkreath, Jarl Ulfric."

"Don't do your best," scowled Galmar. "Actually get it right. You'll be working alongside General Enja so you should get plenty of experience from her, but I daresay the Legion will be settling more squarely into Falkreath by now. If I so much as hear that one man died because of you..."

"Then I claim full responsibity for it, yes?" Ralof asked.

Galmar shortly nodded. "Now we don't see any reason for you to remain here, so go and get changed and have a night's respite, and make sure that you actually get to the damned Hold witout being delayed. As far as I'm concerned, we can deal with the dragons after the war is over."

Ulfric frowned slightly, as though he wanted to disagree; however, he said nothing, just remained quietly thoughtful, and his attention was focused on the flag-dotted map when Ralof quietly left the room.

He found the armoury quickly enough mainly from memory, though seven months had passed since he last been down here first gearing himself up in the standard Stormcloak garb. But soon Ralof saw the Stormblade armour, looking like a near-match to Galmar's. It was a fine corset of chainmail, beneath the skin of a mighty shaggy black bear, whose head formed a helm and paws formed thick, warm gauntlets, and whose fur lined the cuffs of the armour and the outsides and cuffs of the boots. Gratefully, Ralof slipped his old armour off and put the new one on, and found that it fitted snugly to his frame, as though made for him. Strapping the Axe of Whiterun to his hip, and choosing for himself a slender wooden longbow and a fine quiver of steel arrows from the weapons rack nearby, he stood back against a sheet of polished brass and looked at himself, first bear-helm down, and then bear-helm up.

Ralof sensed that a different man was staring back at him from the brass.

_Have I really earned these pieces of armour?_ He wondered to himself.

Perhaps he was yet to earn them.

For now, it was enough that Ulfric had faith in him. Faith that perhaps, he could capture another Hold, in a similar manner he had captured Whiterun's. Ralof seriously doubted that he'd have to save Falkreath from another convenient dragon attack, or if he even could; this armour felt bulkier and heavier to move within, without the simple grace or agility of his old armour, now lying discarded amongst a pile of broken weaponry, soon to be melted down and reused and crafted into new armour for new recruits.

However, the bear armour did feel more comfortable, and warmer. Ralof threw down the hood and stared at himself for a long moment.

_I feel as if I have aged a hundred years,_ he thought to himself. In a matter of days, Ralof felt as though he had changed beyond comparison. Everything was moving so quickly, so swiftly...

_I guess I just have to keep up with it,_ he thought, as he turned and strode from the armoury, his thoughts now concentrated on getting to the Candlehearth Inn and finding out what he had missed in his line of duty while he was away. For now, it would be enough just to be with a group of good friends with a bottle of cold mead. That was the life a Nord was meant to live.

Was it?

Ralof couldn't shake that feeling of odd discontent.

Why was he so restless? Why wasn't he happy? He was back here, back in Windhelm, he was a Stormblade, he was home...

...The world was doomed to die.

Ralof lowered his eyes. Yes, the world was doomed to die, to be devoured. And yet all that was being focused upon was the war. The completion of the war. Did they really want to try and finish the war so badly? To liberate Skyrim from her shackles and chains for a few short weeks...months...years, before the world died?

Yes, that was the discontent. The discontent knowing that the End Times were here, and that there was nothing anyone could do about it.


	8. Second Storm

_A/N: And here we are again! I am so sorry for having kept you waiting so long - I am a terrible person. But! Now Ralof is back in the war, and now that the tides have shifted, he has to focus his attention on securing a good strong territory. Differs from the main plotline to add a touch of my originality; I hope you like it :)_

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_CHAPTER EIGHT: SECOND STORM_

Ralof had the enjoyment of discovering the several benefits that came of being a commander of a camp. Ulundil had humbly offered Ralof his finest horse for swift travel, a mighty brown mare with coalblack hair who had a temper of a river—completely unpredictable. However, the horse was swift and strong, and it only took two days of riding to get from Eastmarch to Falkreath.

He absently named her Kira, unable to get the Dragonborn out of his mind, but discovered that the name seemed to suit the mare, and it became more or less official.

The Stormcloak camp for Falkreath was located along the main road that led to Helgen, though not along the same road that the carts had rumbled through, carrying Stormcloaks for execution, a week ago. It was found in a sheltered alcove just off from the snow-filled pass that took travellers around Haemar's Shame, an ancient cavern that was supposedly filled with vampires.

By sheltered, Ralof reflected, it was from the winds; a few sparse, ragged trees surrounded the rise where the camp was located, but the snow continually fell, spiraling down from the sky and forming an endless icy blanket on the ground. It grew quite cold at night, being in the shadow of Throat of the World, but at least the majority were Nords, and therefore resistant to the cold.

However, there was one intriguing character in the Falkreath camp, when Ralof eventually halted Kira just outside and dismounted to lead her through the wooden spike barricades on foot. A Breton, named Lucius, was now the official healer of the encampment, which came to a slight surpise to Ralof. Few Bretons enjoyed meddling themselves in the civil war as Skyrim was not a Breton's first choice of home.

"General Ralof!"

Ralof looked up quickly at the sound of his name, spoken in style to his rank, in time to see a woman approach him, clad in similar Stormblade armour, only the fur of the bear that she was currently wearing was a snowy, speckled white. But the hood was thrown back despite the chills and though it had been several long months since he had seen her last, and the face was definitely more lined and scarred, it was a face that he recognized.

He dipped his head to her. "Enja. How long has it been?"

"Too long, Ralof," she replied, with a smile, and the two warmly embraced. "But why am I not surprised to see you in the same getup that I've been in for the past two months?"

"Well...mine is a little different," Ralof commented.

"Colour has nothing to do with it," said Enja jovially. She nodded towards where a pair of large, shaggy horses, one black-and-white and the other dark all over, were tethered to a fence, and said, "You can put your flash new mount with the others, and I'll get the Quartermaster to take a look at her hooves later on. You must've ridden fast to get here; the carrier hawk informed me that you arrived in Windhelm only two days ago. And that was after quite the adventure, so I hear."

"Everyone seems to have heard it," Ralof commented.

Enja grinned. "Oh, so it's true, then? You'll have to tell me all about it. Meet me in the war tent when you're all settled in, old friend. A tent's been set up for you. It's the one nearest the fire."

Ralof watched the woman head back across the encampment. It was good to see her again, and discover that her headstrong, natural leader-like attitude hadn't changed in the slightest.

He tethered Kira's reins to the pole, where the brown mare wasted no time investigating the two young geldings who stood beside her, and headed across the encampment. There were several Stormcloaks gathered around a merrily-blazing fire, warming themselves in front of the crackling flames, and they nodded and respectfully said his name as he passed them. Ralof's eyes drifted towards the medicine tent. The tent flaps were closed, but he could vaguely hear a groan issue from within, and a sharp, accented voice say, "You bloody idiot, you've just opened your wounds again! It took me half an hour to put the stitches in..."

Ralof stepped into the shelter of the war tent, which was an immediate relief to the biting snowflakes just outside. He was grateful for the bear fur's shaggy warmth, and he threw back the bear-helm to look around. The war tent was pretty much empty, besides a table being set up over the pelted ground, bearing a map dotted with flags similar to the one he had seen in the Palace of the Kings in Windhelm. Enja stood just beside it, and looked up as he entered.

"You've certainly done us all a favour, winning that knucklehead Balgruuf's support," she said. "Now Jarl Ulfric plans on capturing Falkreath. We do this, and we form a strong barricade and a direct link into Markarth. We capture that Hold, and the Legion will have nowhere to run, or have any way of getting reinforcements."

Ralof leaned over the table, his eyes falling over the map. "So where do we begin?"

"I have twenty-five men," said Enja. "Twenty-six, now that you're here, and I'm not including the Quartermaster or Lucius."

"Lucius?"

"Our healer. A damned good one at that, too," Enja said promptly. "Before you ask, yes, he's a Breton, but he's more spell than sword. Man's a genius with restoration. Now you aren't going to go all racist and shit on Lucius, are you?"

"Why would I do that?" Ralof mused.

"Good. We've got enough trouble on our hands as it is," Enja frowned.

"Why? What's happened?"

Enja sighed. "One of our fresher recruits, Jarsuf, had to pick a fight with a sabre cat while on a scouting patrol the other day," she said. "The cat opened up a gash in his stomach. Lucius is tending to him day and night but there are doubts in this bloody cold weather that he'll make it. My men are cold, hungry and tired and it won't be long before we all start catching the flu as the weather turns only colder. Supplies haven't been coming in quite as much as they should, to top it all off."

Ralof frowned. "Twenty-five isn't a strong number to go by."

"I know. So we'll have to tackle this at a different approach," said Enja. "To start it off, we need to recapture Helgen."

Ralof stiffened. "What? The city's gone, Enja!"

"Do you take me for an idiot?" snapped Enja, then softened slightly to add, "I know perfectly well what shit you, Ulfric and our brothers and sisters-in-arms went through in that city. We could hear the dragon very clearly wreaking havoc on that place. However, Imperials have moved into the city and are blocking our supply route from Whiterun. Seemed Tullius countered the fact he's now in the losing side of the war by preventing extra rations and metals for the Quartermaster reaching us in the Falkreath camp. He must've suspected that Falkreath was the next Hold to go down."

"But Helgen is _destroyed_," Ralof emphasized, forcing away painful memories of seeing Alduin, and a certain someone in particular. "There's nothing left! What use would it be to anyone, much less a supply caravan?"

"My scouts report that if we gain control of Helgen's wreckage, and then spend a few days clearing rubble, then we'll be able to clear the road that connects this side of the Hold from that side, the road that leads to Whiterun through Riverwood. Therefore, a supply route," Enja said with relish. "We'll get more food, and maybe even move our camp from all this damned snow, and set it up amidst the wreckage there. Anywhere out of the way of the chill of the mountains is better."

Ralof frowned. He highly doubted he'd ever be able to sleep in Helgen, after what he had seen. Surviving something like that tended to haunt you for the rest of your life.

However, there was logic to Enja's words.

"You seem to have all this straightened out," he commented.

"Actually," said Enja, "I wanted to go over it with someone equal to my status, instead of the rabble I'm currently commanding. But maybe morale will raise knowing that a dragonslayer is currently residing in our camp."

Ralof shook his head. "I'm no dragonslayer. Just a warrior who survived."

"Survived things that should not have been survived," Enja emphasized. She gestured to a letter which Ralof had missed resting at the corner of the table, and she added, "According to Ulfric, you even knew the Dragonborn."

Ralof shrugged. "I hardly knew her," he said. "She was just a refugee whose destiny was broken before she could so much as realize it."

There was a pause, and then Enja said quietly, "Ulfric claims that the dragon in Helgen wasn't...any dragon."

"No, it wasn't," Ralof said, standing up. "But now isn't the time to dwell on memories. We have a Hold to reclaim." He tapped the map meaningfully and said, "We start with Helgen, yes? Free up our supply route for Whiterun. When Helgen is retaken from the Imperials..." His finger traced a long line up to Falkreath. "We should start building our way up to the city, cutting off access to the outer Holds to prevent Imperial messengers for calling for aid. Sealing off the city, we might even be able to take it without much of a fight, and save a bloodbath."

Enja was thoughtful. "I like the way you think," she said after a moment. She traced along the outside of the Hold, where the territory met the mountains of the Reach and the grassy plains of Whiterun, and said, "When we clear up the supply route in Helgen, I can send a platoon of Stormcloaks around the long way and guard the roads that leave the territory. We press on Falkreath on both sides, and Jarl Siddgeir will be forced to surrender."

"Who's the Legate in Falkreath?"

Enja snorted. "Some s'wit called Skulnar," she frowned. "Been giving my boys plenty of trouble over the past few weeks, ambushing patrols and whatnot. I'll look forward when we can bring him to justice. But Tullius is fortifying the Hold and the longer we delay the more soldiers that could be coming in from Cyrodiil."

"What's our first move?"

"Take ten of my ablest men who are willing and march on Helgen tomorrow evening," Enja instructed. "I'll lead the rest around and block off any other possible exits. We sweep in on all sides—" she brought her two fists crashing together "—and the Imperials will be caught right up in the thick shit. Helgen will be ours by dawn."

Ralof nodded. "If you say so, General."

"Oh please, enough with the formalities, I don't think it suits either of us," Enja said, with a grin. "Remember how you, I and Thakor headed up to the Isle and took on all those Ice Wraiths? Brought back so many teeth that we had to heave it home in a sack. Galmar was impressed."

"Speaking of which, where is Thakor?"

"Up in the camp in Hjaalmarch. I don't envy him; living next to those marshes is about as cheerful as visiting Vaermina," said Enja. "He's pretty swift; makes a good courier, so I hear, when the weather's too bad for the hawks to fly." She smiled and clapped Ralof warmly on his fur-plated shoulder. "I'll look forward to fighting alongside you again, brother of Skyrim," she said, and her voice was earnest.

Ralof flashed her a grin. "As will I, sister of snow."

* * *

It was a relatively clear night. Clouds covered the star-flecked sky, and a light fog hung over the ground, but visibility was clear.

Ralof was glad again of his armour, mainly because it was a good deal warmer than his standard gear had been. He pulled the bear-helm a little more snugly up around his face, keeping out the biting chill. He looked over his shoulder, and beckoned for the soldiers to follow him.

He had spent a day in the Falkreath camp since he and Enja had made plans on the ambush of Helgen, and by know he knew most of his comrades' names. Enja had left two hours earlier, using the cover of darkness to stealthily lead her group of soldiers to the other side of Helgen. They waited in the surrounding tangle of forest for his signal.

Undeniably Ralof was nervous. Walking into battle alongside your brothers was one thing. Leading your men into battle was quite another, mainly because you have the lives of those men in your conscience, and if they died, you'd blame yourself for it.

However, he was Ralof Stormblade now. He had better get his act together and get on with it.

In the distance, he could see a light. An Imperial soldier on watch, with a lit torch, scanning the darkened surroundings, mainly mountain and a bit of tree, leaf and forest. Ralof frowned, thinking quickly, trying to decide if it was best to kill the soldier, or distract him, long enough to swarm the damaged gates.

Eventually he decided for a kill shot. But they'd have to move swiftly after this. He pulled down his longbow and tugged out an arrow. Falling onto one knee so he would be better stabilized, he raised the bow, aiming carefully. He could recollect friendly memories of Faendal teaching him how to shoot an arrow when he was just a boy in Riverwood.

These were being put to good use now. Ralof waited until the air was still and calm, devoid for a short time of any breeze that could make the arrow waver and essentially miss its target. Then he released. The arrow shot through the air, fast as a diving hawk.

Distantly, he heard the Imperial cry out but the arrow had pierced his chest and his heart, and he fell, the light flickering out as it slithered from his fingers.

At once, Ralof straightened, racing forwards towards the city barricades, the Stormcloaks in tow behind him. He had almost reached the damaged gates when he heard a yell ring up around the city. "Stormcloaks!"

Ralof and several others stepped back as the four soldiers who carried the tree trunk which would act as a battering ram raced to the front, slamming the wooden end as hard as they could against the gates. They flew open, the weak barricade behind it splintering as the damaged gates flew open.

The damaged city displayed itself before Ralof's eyes but he drew another arrow in a flash, and aimed only for a moment before he let it sing, striking another Imperial soldier down, who was just beginning to scramble over a heap of rubble that might have once been part of the surrounding mountains.

"Attack!" Ralof shouted.

The Stormcloaks drew their weapons and surged forward, spilling into the city. Ralof jerked around as he heard footsteps resound nearby. A patrol of three Imperials, one of them bearing a torch, hurried towards them, weapons unsheathed. In a flash, Ralof had drawn another arrow and shot it towards the central Imperial, striking him down, the torch skidding out of his grip.

"On them!" Ralof ordered.

The Stormcloak soldiers drew blade as Ralof saw several archers line up along the damaged wall that enclosed the courtyard surrounding the keep. Panic shot through him and he shouted, "Archers! Watch out!"

The first volley of arrows shot through the air. Ralof barely avoided the lethal arrowheads. Two Stormcloaks nearby, who wielded heavy leather shields, dropped down behind them and the arrows thudded into their defense. But Ralof heard a shriek of pain issue from nearby and realized that one of the recruits, Baljorn, had been struck through the chest and the leg with the arrows, and he slumped to the ground, bleeding his last.

Ralof felt anger course through him, and he jerked out an arrow. Peering through the darkness, he struck one Imperial archer down. Another arrow shot near his own, wounding a second archer through the shoulder. Glancing over his shoulder, Ralof recognized Enard as the shooter, and he nodded his thanks before moving deeper into the city.

All around him he could hear the sounds of swords crashing against swords, and he tried to ignore the complete wreckage around him as he slung his bow over his shoulder and drew his blade in a flourish as an Imperial loomed before him. Ralof narrowly avoided haiving his shoulder lopped off, and he twisted and sidestepped the blow, bringing up his sword to deflect the counter-attack that followed.

The battle between them lasted swiftly; Ralof was smaller than this brute but he was more agile, and soon managed to catch the man a stunning blow between the shoulder blades, severing the vertebrae in the force of his thrust. As the man fell, already stone dead, Ralof turned his attention to the other Imperials, and protecting what men he still had alive.

Half-buried knowledge of Helgen returned as Ralof fought. A surprise battalion of Legionnaires emerged from around the damaged keep, but as he was fighting, Enja's forces arrived, scrambling with startling agility over the crumbled stone walls into the keep courtyard and raining arrows and axe-blows on the surprised Imperials and Imperial-sympathizers. When the keep courtyard was secured, he headed back around, to find that archers were raining arrows down on the Stormcloaks from a vantage point at the top of the damaged watchtower, where not a few days ago, Alduin had thrust his head through and killed Davund.

Ralof had lost his bow, broken when he barely dodged a swinging arc from a Legionnaire, and the offending weapon had caught on his longbow, severing it into two pieces. Unable to shoot the archers down, and without time to scavenge for another bow, Ralof sprinted across the charred cobbles and headed towards the watchtower.

Heading up the stairs, he encountered the archers, who had their bows readied. They spun around at Ralof's arrival and fired; Ralof managed to avoid the first two arrows, as the startled archers had loosed them wide, but the third clipped his shoulder. The blow was muffled by the heavy chainmail beneath the bear fur but Ralof still felt the force of the blow, and he staggered, giving the archers enough time to recover and draw their close-range weapons. Outnumbered three to one, Ralof raised his weapon, preparing to go down fighting.

As it turned out, the archers weren't as skillful with their blades as they were with their bows—and they weren't agile in such a small environment. Ralof was able to push one of them through the shattered wall, where he plunged screaming down to the ground. Ralof thrust his sword through another archer's chest, giving her the courtesy of a quick, painless death. The third managed to strike him with the tip of his Elven dagger, and though the cut stung, it wasn't shallow and fortunately wasn't poisoned. Ralof dispatched of the third archer, and headed down to the ground, but not before discovering that he had been too late to save two of his own men from the sharp arrowheads.

However, the Stormcloaks were winning in the battle. Ralof moved swiftly through the fray, killing as he went, rallying disheartened men and escorting wounded Stormcloaks off to a quiet side in the battlefield. Their advantage of surprise and their attacks on both sides had given the Stormcloaks a higher chance of victory, and by the dawn, what Legionnaires had surrendered and survived were now shackled and chained to the walls, stripped of their weapons and pride. The crimson flag that fluttered above Helgen's ramparts was taken down and burned in a newly-lit brazier, to be replaced with the blue flag of Windhelm.

* * *

"How many did we lose in the end?" asked Ralof, as he assessed what remained of the Stormcloak encampment.

Enja frowned. "From my battalion, Mirsi, Irdin and Shalfred. If Lucius can't get Pasijud's bleeding to stop, him too."

"Baljorn died in the beginning," said Ralof, remembering how he had seen the Stormcloak fall victim to an arrow volley. Recollecting other scenes in the battle, he said, "Fajsli and Dermar were also felled by arrows, and Byjorn died from his injuries."

"That makes seven deaths," said Enja. "May Talos be with them in Sovngarde. But I think our advantage of surprise on both sides prevented the deaths of any more."

Ralof nodded, looking around. They stood in the quiet clearing in Helgen—actually in the scorched-black courtyard. A few hours had passed since dawn and in that time fit runners had returned to the encampment, and returned, the Quartermaster, a burly Nord man named Julfreid, and Lucius on horseback. The third horse pulled a cart carrying all the supplies from the encampment. Ralof and Enja had decided to move the encampment into Helgen, where they would be more sheltered from the snow, where they could keep an eye on the borders, be better defended if they were attacked and be in direct line with the trade route from Whiterun.

A couple of tents had been set up and the Quartermaster was already having men try and get the barracks in the keep opened, to see if there were any good weapons and materials worth scavenging to repair damaged equipment. Most of the men were bedraggled and being seen to by Lucius.

"Are you hurt?" Ralof asked his fellow Stormblade.

Enja shrugged. "Bruises, here and there, but otherwise, I wasn't too badly roughed up. Those Imperials fought dirty and half of them were asleep." She snorted. "And you?"

"A cut on my arm, nothing serious, and a bruised shoulder."

"Nothing that Lucius can't fix in the blink of an eye," smirked Enja. She looked around. "Well. This place looks like a pretty damned shithole, now that I can take a clearer look at it. And you say that one dragon did all this?"

"Yes. One dragon, and a lot of fiery rocks from the sky."

"Damn." Enja squinted up at the sky, turning a steady deep blue as the day warmed and heated, as though expecting to see a repetition of the events. Eventually she looked down and back at Ralof and commented, "This place will need a lot of work if it is to be fortified against those Imperial bastards. We'll need more men."

"I'll contact Hod in Riverwood and see if he can't find some willing hands to help with fortifications," said Ralof. "I'll ride out to Whiterun at the same time and see if I can find any recruits to add to the army as well."

"Good man. Leave tomorrow, and get some rest and celebrations tonight," Enja said. "Those Imperials were, ah, _courteous_ enough to leave behind a barrel of Black-Briar mead in the watchtower." She jerked her thumb over her shoulder at said tower, which rose just behind them, and added, "And after a triumph like this, we ought to celebrate."

Ralof nodded agreement. "First, though, we'd better get set up."

"Quite right. Set up some pyres and honourably send our fallen brethren to Sovngarde. Fortunately, there's an awful lot of wood around. But what our men need most is rest." Enja sighed. "So much to do."

"Let's get onto it, then," said Ralof. "I don't know about you, but I think I can do some more work before I drop dead with exhaustion."

Enja nodded, and the pair split up to assist their fellow Stormcloaks. A couple of hours later, and when it was nearing midday, all the tents had been set up, fuel had been scavenged from the remains of Helgen and a cooking fire had been set up. The horses were fastened to the railing outside the destroyed inn, given a trough of water to satisfy their thirst, and the cart set off to one side. The Quartermaster finally got into the keep, where he returned with an armful of ingots, leather and weapons. He needed to touch up on a few of them, but that could be done more or less in a few hours. Lucius had instantly healed a few of the injured Stormcloaks, who were given instructions to rest for a day before assuming full duties again. Ralof was feeling his respect for the man grow by the minute. By now, though, he was starting to feel nothing but exhausted and knew that he'd have to get some rest soon. However, he and Enja spent one short conference in the newly-erected war tent, shifting flags and debriefing.

"I'll send a message to Galmar in Windhelm saying that Helgen is ours through carrier hawk," Enja said.

"I'll speak to Jarl Balgruuf about the supplies and any men that he can spare," said Ralof. "And Hod about supplies and any willing workmen. If Ulfric is in Whiterun at that time, then I can report to him about our victory directly."

Then he frowned. "What about the Imperial prisoners?" He had almost forgotten completely about them, in his haste to get the encampment settled. "What will happen to them?"

"They're being interrogated for information as we speak," Enja shrugged. "Don't worry; none too forcefully. When we're done they'll just be kept as prisoners of war, but they won't be harmed further. We won't sink to those Imperial dogs' level, particularly as some of them are kinsmen."

"Glad to hear it," said Ralof. _There is no need to kill defeated men._

"And now," said Enja, in a more businesslike tone, "it is time for us to get some rest. I'll hold the fort for a few hours."

"You sure?"

"Dead sure. And please don't be a gentleman to me, I've spent far too long commanding an army of dunderheads to be treated like a lady, even when this war is over."

"You didn't want to be treated like a lady before you even became a Stormblade, to my memory," Ralof commented.

"Which is why you are still alive in front of me." Enja clapped Ralof genially on the shoulder. "Go get some shuteye."

Ralof was more than happy to oblige. Worn out from his experiences, he made his way over to his tent and fell without hesitation into it, and within moments, he was sleeping deeply, savouring his few precious hours of peace.

* * *

_A/N: There you have it! I hope you enjoyed the chapter :) The next ones may be longer...but the waits may be long, too. Sorry, but juggling three fanfictions, one soon-to-be fanfiction, non-fanfictions, schoolwork and other parts of my life can be a bit confusing! In the meantime, please r&r, good readers :D There'll be more Falkreath action coming as they plan to take over the city and claim the Hold for good ..._

_And don't worry. Ralof hasn't forgotten about Ja'kira...and the dragons haven't forgotten him, either... *evil laughter*_


	9. Moving Forward

_A/N: And hello again, people! Yes, this is awfully late, sorry sorry sorry a thousand times, I had writer's block, lost interest, got sidetracked and then had more writer's block, until at LAST the next chapter is up. And next time, hopefully it will be more interesting. But I decided, to try and get over my writer's block, to add in someone that we all know._

* * *

_CHAPTER NINE: MOVING FORWARD_

Ralof was discontent to see the dawn. When he opened his eyes, and he smelt the crisp early dawn air, the first thing he felt was guilt, and he sat up quickly. He hadn't meant to sleep through the night, and he let out a curse as he felt his bruises complain.

Quickly he tightened the straps of his armour and brushed aside the tent flaps, stepping out into the courtyard, and his guilt only increased when he saw that the Stormcloaks were hard at work. Some were on the verge of dropping in their weariness.

"Good morning, sunshine," said a familiar voice, and Ralof turned around sheepishly. Enja had dark circles beneath her pale blue eyes, but they sparkled with a mixture of annoyance and amusement.

"You should've woken me," Ralof said.

"What, and deprived you of a beauty sleep?" Enja laughed, and clapped Ralof heavily on the shoulder (he winced slightly as she caught him on his bad one, and glared at her as she realized she had done it on purpose) and said, "Don't mention it. We're knuckling down here, getting Helgen into a more or less defendable state of being again. We're allowed to push ourselves. But you are heading to Riverwood and also to Whiterun, so _you_ need to make yourself look presentable."

Ralof recollected that he was due to head out again, and he was pleased at the thought of going to see his sister and nephew again. He needed to speak to Hod about wood for repairs and barricades and try to find anyone in Whiterun who were willing to fight for the Stormcloaks. Perhaps Jarl Balgruuf would have a few mercenaries in mind.

"I should set out now," he said, already looking around for where the horses were tethered. "See if I can't be back here in a day or two."

"Whoa there, Stormblade, you still need to eat too," Enja frowned.

Ralof smirked at her. "Is this motherly concern, I hear?"

"No, this is the concern of an officer about to force-feed her equal."

"Relax, Enja. I'll stop by my sister's for breakfast."

A flash of recognition crossed Enja's face. "That's right...you came from Riverwood, didn't you?"

Ralof nodded. "Sweet little town." It was probably the most peaceful little place in the whole of Skyrim, and the least affected by the war. "Grew up there all my life." It also made him realize something, and he glanced back at Enja. "Where did you come from, in Skyrim?"

Enja smiled distantly in some memory. "Shor's Stone," she replied. "All right, it wasn't the most productive place. It was quite small, hardly a settlement, just a few shabby old houses and about ten people living there. But it was comfortable, and it spawned a warrior from it. A strong one, too. Even girls are expected to work in the mines at Shor's Stone."

_Well, you're hardly one to sit around and read, are you?_ Ralof pulled his bear helm over his head, the warm, shaggy fur offering some relief from the biting mountain winds, and said, "I'll be back as soon as I can, and with some more muscle."

"See that you do," said Enja. And just like that, she had moved off again, already shouting commands to the weary men and speaking quietly to Lucius from the mouth of his tent.

Ralof sighed quietly and began to head towards where the horses were tethered. He was more than relieved to get out of this place, and he wasn't ashamed to admit that he hated being here. Murmuring Kira's name, he wasn't surprised to see the brown mare pawing restlessly at the broken-down wooden railing outside the inn, and she turned to him at once, flicking her ears and snorting with her recognition.

He rubbed his hand on her velvety muzzle and she half-closed her eyes and leaned against him, wanting more affection.

And then Ralof's mind was drifting again. Damn it. He needed to get out of this town before memories threatened to distract him from duties. He untied Kira's reins and swung himself onto her back, turning her around and heading for the gates. Rubble blocking the road had been mostly cleared by the Imperials and completed by the Stormcloaks, by the looks of it, through the night, though halfway to the gates Kira had to pause to knock a stray pebble out from her hoof, whickering her displeasure.

Ralof kept his gaze firmly set on the south, not allowing himself to even glance at the keep. He headed through the gates, winding around a barricade which already had been set up just outside it, and then they were out, and Ralof breathed a quiet sigh of relief. The icy snows that surrounded the sloping tundra just outside the mountain outpost had never felt fresher.

Crunching through the snow, Ralof soon heard the frost give way to cobblestones and it became a rhythmic clattering. It seemed that the Quartermaster had even had enough time to fix the horses' shoes. High above, Ralof watched a snow-coloured hawk plummet down into the dark green woodland beyond, but it took flight a moment later, its talons bare of any food. He heard little birds twitter in the tall pines. The stones rose up over him, forming sheltered archways from the wind, and as he began the descent to Riverwood, along the steep and winding south road, the air began to grow less sharp, more cool, bringing with it the achingly familiar smell of firs and pines.

Skyrim was so beautiful, and it always made Ralof angry and upset to know that there was a very good chance there wouldn't even be another world soon enough.

However, Ralof had a job to do, and end of the world or not, he was going to do it. He dug his heels into Kira's sides and the mare fell into a trot, jogging down the last sloping corners and rounding the bend into Riverwood.

By now it was well past dawn and there was even faint movement. Gerdur's house was set up right beside the south wall and the large cow that stood in the centre of the small paddock just ouside lifted its head, grunting vaguely, already chewing its cud. Ralof wondered vaguely if his sister was awake yet, as he tugged gently on Kira's reins. The horse sidled over to the low fence and started to help herself to the grass, much to the displeasure of the cow.

His wonders were soon answered. As Ralof swung himself down from the saddle, throwing the reins around one of the fence poles (though he doubted his mount would want to move too far from the spot of grass), he heard the door to the house open, accompanied by a lot of sound. For a moment, Ralof couldn't quite make sense of it. But eventually he made out his sister's voice, stressed and loud.

"I've told you before to leave Stump outside, and now look what he's done!"

There was a protesting bark, and then suddenly a grey, shaggy blur scampered out from the house and ploughed into the grass. The cow let out a startled grunt and stepped cautiously backwards.

"Oh, for Gods' sakes..." Ralof chuckled at his sister's weary, angry exasperation. "Get the dog out of the yard or he'll worry the cow!"

"But Mama—"

"Frodnar, do as you're told!"

There was a sharp note to Gerdur's voice now. A shadow appeared in the doorway and a grumbling, mutinous-looking boy, one familiar to Ralof, emerged, his eyes already searching the long grass where his dog might be hiding.

Then he looked up and his eyes widened in surprise.

"Who are you?" he asked hesitantly, taking a nervous step back.

For a moment, Ralof was confused—until he realized he still had his bear helm up, and most likely it was shrouding his features. He pushed the helmet back and now Frodnar let out an excited squeal.

"Uncle Ralof! Uncle Ralof!"

He was already running towards Ralof before he had even finished speaking, and Ralof grunted as the excited youth threw himself against him. An ache rushed up his back but he forced it away as he gently prised Frodnar off him.

"Steady on, or you'll hurt yourself," Ralof chided him gently.

Stump put his head up through the grass and barked, wagging his tail.

"Uncle Ralof," gasped Frodnar, stepping back, "you look _different!_ You're a bear!"

His gaze slid past Ralof, and he said in awe, "You have a _horse?_"

Kira lifted her head and snorted disdainfully at Frodnar before returning to her grazing.

"Borrowed," Ralof told him. "You can touch her, if you want."

Frodnar approached Kira with the air of one trying to poke a sleeping wolf in the eye. Ralof was about to tell Frodnar that Kira wasn't going to attack him when he heard movement at the doorway again. Gerdur, no doubt attracted by her son's shouts, appeared there, and for a moment, she stared at Ralof in surprise, and then she smiled warmly and approached him, and they embraced.

"It's good to see you again," she told him, as she stepped back. Looking him up and down, she remarked, "Brother, you look different!"

Ralof half-raised his arms. "Promotion?" he offered meekly.

Gerdur's face was ecstatic. "That's wonderful!" She couldn't resist another hug again. Then she frowned, and her fingers gently touched against a small cut on Ralof's face. He hadn't even noticed it until now, when it stung and he flinched. "But you're hurt...what have you been doing?"

"Shall we talk inside?" Ralof offered.

"But what about your...?...you have a horse." The question slid ludicrously into a statement, and Ralof couldn't resist a smile at the look of surprise on his sister's face. "Was this part of your promotion...?"

"No," said Ralof. "She's just borrowed, for fast travel. Technically she's still Ulundil's. And she'll be fine there." He looked back over his shoulder. Kira was now allowing a breathless Frodnar to gently pat her neck and touch the dark strands of hair that made her mane.

Eventually they left Frodnar gently petting Kira, with Stump padding around happily nearby, and Ralof headed indoors, where he was welcomed by Hod, seated and given some breakfast. Halfway through, Gerdur appeared, with a small basin of water and a cloth, and Ralof shook his head.

"Not now. Not while I'm eating."

"Nonsense. It'll grow infected, otherwise."

Fussily she dabbed it at his brow where the cut was, and Ralof stifled an irritated snort with difficulty. Did being a Stormblade mean he was always going to be bossed around by the womenfolk?

"How did you get that anyway, Ralof?" Hod asked, as he sipped at his mead. "You seem to turn up to Riverwood with varying degrees of wounds."

"What are you talking about?" asked Ralof.

"I got into a discussion with Lucan and Camilla recently." Hod winked.

Ralof rolled his eyes, and said, "I was up in Helgen again."

Gerdur stiffened, startled. "Whatever for?"

"Now that Balgruuf has aligned himself with the Stormcloaks, we're starting to move onto claiming Falkreath territory before the Empire retaliates and realizes that we're in the advantage now..."

Hod frowned thoughtfully. "Heard that the tides had changed. I think that Ulfric is even in Whiterun as we speak." He shrugged. "Well, he was. May have left already this morn."

"So what were you up in Helgen for, then?" Gerdur asked, her eyes cautious. "You in particular shouldn't have been up there."

"It's just a memory now," said Ralof firmly, stifling a cold shiver of fear at the very thought of seeing Alduin again. "And the Imperials had claimed it and were using it as a military outpost. So we...ambushed them, in the night. And we succeeded."

"That's good to hear," said Hod.

"Helgen belongs to the Stormcloaks," said Ralof. "But I'm afraid I haven't just come down here to visit. There's a lot of work to be done before Helgen is defendable again."

Gerdur gave a sharp nod. "What do you need?"

"Timber," Ralof told them. "As much as you can spare for the war effort."

Hod frowned thoughtfully. "There's been good stock this season," he said.

"We could spare some," Gerdur said. "And if we can't, then we'll spare it anyway. Anything to help the Stormcloaks and the true High King."

Ralof smiled at his sister's loyalty. If she was a warrior, she'd make a fine Stormcloak. "Thank you," he said gravely to them.

"Don't mention it," she replied. "Are you heading back to Helgen now?"

"I'm on my way to Whiterun," Ralof said. "See if there are any fresh recruits for the Stormcloaks. We lost several men in the ambush."

"I'm sure there would be," commented Gerdur. "You could see if the Gray-Manes' sons Avulstein and Thorald are ready to make ranks. But wouldn't they have to make the oath first? And have their trial?"

Ralof paused. "I doubt there are any ice wraiths here in Falkreath," he commented. "But I'll have a word with Enja if I find them in Whiterun and they want to join—if they want to follow me back to Helgen then I doubt I'm going to stop them."

"There are several mercenaries up in Whiterun too, who might be interested in doing something more than lazing their days away in a tavern, waiting for someone to come to them complaining about bandits or over-aggressive slaughterfish or something," Hod said.

Ralof nodded. "And maybe Jarl Balgruuf will have a few guardsmen to spare for the effort, too." Unlikely, as he had known the Jarl for most of his life, hearing about him and his deeds from Riverwood, and he cared heavily for the protection and safety of his people. Still, however, a few guardsmen to bolster their ranks, however temporarily, was better than nothing.

"When supplies start coming through to Helgen," Gerdur added, as Ralof now made to leave, "I'll make a note of checking them through for you. They'll be passing right through our place and I know that the Battle-Borns still reside in Whiterun, and most likely, there will be attempts at sabotage. Whiterun, I can sense, is still a fairly neutral city. Nonetheless, I wish you luck in finding more men and reporting your success to Ulfric, should he be there."

Ralof nodded, accepting his sister's words. Leaving his sister's house, he headed over towards where his horse waited patiently for him. Kira looked up from sniffing at Stump's fur and flicked one ear disdainfully as he approached—she looked tired from the exhilarated petting that Frodnar was still carefully giving her.

"You'd best be getting back inside now," Ralof told his nephew, as he reached for Kira's reins.

But he was intercepted halfway, and realized that Frodnar was attempting to give him something.

"A lady came and gave this to me a few minutes ago," he said, and as Ralof held out a hand to accept it, he saw that it was a note.

Puzzled, Ralof made to open it. "Do you know who this lady was?" he asked.

"She wouldn't say," said Frodnar, with a shrug. "Just that she was a friend of yours."

"What did she look like?" asked Ralof, suddenly suspicious.

"She wore brown leather armour...at least, I think it was leather," said Frodnar slowly. "And she had a hood over her face. She didn't want to give a name and she disappeared around the corner. She might have left Riverwood already, or gone to the inn, or something. But she said that the note was of upmost importance and that you should read it as soon as you get the chance."

Ralof frowned a little, glancing back at the half-opened note. He could already make out some writing beneath the folds, and eventually curiosity prompted him to open it completely and read what it said.

_Rent the attic room in the Sleeping Giant Inn._

Ralof was perplexed. He flipped the note over in case he had missed something. He turned it back again, and reread it, in case there was some kind of hidden cryptic message.

No, nothing. Just said, 'Rent the attic room in the Sleeping Giant Inn'.

"What does it say?" asked Frodnar eagerly, trying to peer over his uncle's arm.

Ralof folded it back on itself and tucked it into Kira's saddlebags. "Nothing that you need to be concerned about," he assured Frodnar. "And thank you for giving it to me." He paused, and then said, "Wait...didn't you read it?"

Frodnar shook his head. "She told me not to read it, and I thought you might tell me..."

"It's nothing, really," Ralof told him. "Run along, now. And take Stump with you, or else your mother is going to have a fit if he starts wreaking havoc over the community of Riverwood."

Frodnar nodded, wished Ralof farewell, and headed back towards the cottage, calling for Stump. The dog barked and headed back to his master's side, pausing to throw Kira one more look. The brown mare retaliated by snorting and tossing back her head restlessly, in such an aggressive fashion that Stump yelped and raced away.

Ralof was unable to resist a chuckle, and absently he petted Kira's shaggy neck. But he hesitated. The note...who could possibly want to meet him in the Sleeping Giant Inn?

Curiosity overwhelmed him, yet again. He grasped Kira's reins and led his mare around the corner to the inn. He hoped that it would only be a short meeting.

* * *

When he stepped into the Sleeping Giant Inn, old memories worked their way up to the surface. Ralof could remember watching the place being built, only a few years after the Great War had ended. His parents had helped in the construction of the place, and now a fairly prospering little business had been settled. The innkeepers, he had known ever since the inn was established.

The place still looked the same as it did twenty years ago, Ralof remembered. The large fire still crackled in the centre of the room, and a rush of welcoming warmth greeted him the moment he stepped through the door. The inn's interior had been bult in the classic tavern style that was surprisingly popular throughout the outdoors of Skyrim, and a few stuffed animals hung from the high walls and behind the counter, a mark of the fair amount of hunters that had passed through once in a while, and the rich, prey-filled woods of Falkreath that were basically right next door to Riverwood.

Sven, the inn's bard, stood in the corner strumming his lute, and he nodded a greeting upon seeing Ralof enter. Ralof returned the gesture, pausing for a moment to listen to the sweet melody Sven's talented fingers were strumming, before turning his attention to the front of the bar.

"Orgnar!" said a familiar, condescending voice.

The said Nord didn't respond to the sharp mention of his name—instead, he rather indifferently continued to rub down the bar surface. The speaker emerged from the doorway of the inn's master bedroom and said irritably, "Orgnar, are you listening?"

Ralof cracked a grin and leaned against a nearby pillaring. Ah, he remembered the arguments that the innkeepers had with one another. This, if he wasn't mistaken, would be the one about ale going bad.

Orgnar glanced up. "Hard not to," he replied, in his familiar deep growl.

Delphine folded her arms. "The ale's going bad. We need to get a new batch."

Ralof grinned. Ah, the memories of home.

Orgnar continued to rub down the bar surface, and his lack of response made Delphine annoyed.

"Orgnar, were you listening?" she snapped.

"Yup," said Orgnar. "Ale's going bad."

Delphine relented. "I guess you don't have potatoes in your ears, after all. Just make sure we remember to get a new batch."

Ralof chuckled to himself, and as Orgnar and Delphine resumed their usual duties, he glanced down at the pouch on his belt and drew out the note, which he had decided to take with him for evidence if he was asked something—to his memory, he didn't recall an attic room being built in the inn. Maybe it was a new addition.

He headed forwards towards Delphine, who had paused in her usual cleaning to practice her alchemy, a pastime that had inspired much curiosity in Ralof when he was younger. He remembered asking her about it.

"Just a hobby of mine, a talent I picked up when I moved over from High Rock," Delphine had explained. "I'm trying to work on poisons, for hunting arrows. Faendal's put in a new order."

But while Orgnar cooked, Delphine was the one who managed the rooms. Ralof approached her, wondering how this was going to turn out.

Delphine glanced over her shoulder at his approach, and a flicker of surprise registered across her face. "Ralof! It's good to see you again. How fares the war effort?"

"Well enough," said Ralof carefully. "Unfortunately, I have to be on my way to Whiterun soon enough. But before I do, I'd like to order the attic room, please."

Delphine frowned slightly. "An attic room? Did I hear you correctly?"

Ralof nodded. "How much?"

"Well...we don't _have_ an attic room..." Delphine's face remained curiously passive. "But...you can have the one on the left. That'll be ten gold."

Ralof frowned, but he didn't argue, merely counting out the ten coin from his pouch and handing it over to Delphine.

"Ta," she replied, pocketing it. "Go get yourself settled into the room. I'll be over in a moment with some mead—the ale's going bad."

"But...I didn't order any mead," Ralof said, slightly confused.

"I know. But it's good to see you again. I think we can spare this one bottle—the drink's on the house." Delphine swept away, leaving a slightly perplexed Ralof in her wake.

However, Ralof didn't argue. Wondering if Delphine somehow knew about the mystery messenger, he headed to the indicated room and sat down in the chair at the end of it, just opposite the bed. Here, he pulled out the note, just to double-checek that he had done everything to the letter. He had.

A minute later, Delphine headed into the room—sure enough, with a bottle of mead in one hand. Ralof prepared to thank her, but noticed that she had suddenly closed the door.

"What's this about?" he asked, suddenly cautious.

Delphine had a very curious expression on her face as she hastily approached him, sitting down on the edge of the bed and putting the mead bottle on the table.

"Look, I know that you don't have long," she said, her words coming out in an urgent, low murmur. "But I need you to know..."

Ralof's confusion was rising. "Know what?"

Delphine breathed out shortly. "Look. There are worrying times out there and nobody knows what to do. Even I don't know what to do, and I've spent the last quarter century in hiding."

"In hiding?" interrupted Ralof, scowling. "What are you on about?"

"Keep your voice down," Delphine said quietly, her eyes darting fervently towards the door. "There are unfriendly eyes and ears everywhere."

Ralof's confusion only continued to grow, but at the very least, he obeyed this.

"What do you want, and what are you talking about?" he asked quietly.

Delphine slowly breathed out. "I'm not who I appear to be," she told him softly. "I'm not the peaceful, alchemy-praticing innkeeper that you remember me by, Ralof. I am, in truth, one of the last Blades alive, and I am in hiding—I have been, for the past twenty-five years, ever since the Great War ended and the Concordat was signed, dooming my order to destruction."

Ralof was stunned. "A Blade?" he echoed, surprised, but now starting to catch onto something. He had heard plenty about the Concordat from his parents—his father had served in the Great War, after all, and even at Ulfric's side. Part of the Concordat's conditions was the immediate removal of every single member of the Blades. The Thalmor were personally responsible for their steady eradication and the sacking of Cloud Ruler Temple. "I thought that you all had been killed a long time ago," he said slowly.

Delphine shook her head. "No. I still live. I have no idea about my former brothers or sisters. I met Orgnar and disguised myself and started my 'harmless inkeeper' act. Guess I'm getting pretty good at it—I've avoided complete suspicion from any passing member of the Thalmor, though fortunately the large amount of Nords in this little town make it quite clear that they aren't welcome here, and don't pass by too much."

She sighed. "But time has passed and now worrying events are starting to make me frightened. You and I both know that the dragons are returning. You were at Helgen, one of the survivors there. You were the one who killed the dragon in Whiterun—and also the man who retrieved the Dragonstone for Farengar and I."

Ralof sat back, honestly startled. "That was you?"

"Yes," she said shortly. "But I haven't much time. I needed the Dragonstone because I have come to a worrying conclusion. The dragons...they don't appear to be coming back, they're coming back to life."

Ralof frowned. "What do you mean? How is that possible?"

"The map you brought us," Delphine said quietly, "was a map of noted dragon burial sites. Where my predecessors killed off many close lieutenants of Alduin and buried the remains. I've visited a few of the nearer sites and I've discovered them empty."

Ralof was about to ask her what she meant, when suddenly a memory abruptly worked its way to the surface.

_You have no idea of the power that my lord can wield. The power to pull dovah from the very earth itself._

For so long, Ralof had been completely perplexed by this statement.

But suddenly, he understood.

"Alduin is resurrecting the dragons," he said flatly.

Delphine looked surprised. "You figured that out quickly."

"It was something that Mirmulnir—the dragon I killed—told me. He said that I could try to hurt him. But he'd just return. He said that I had no idea of the power that his lord—Alduin, I presume—wielded. He said that he could pull _dovah_ from the very earth itself."

Delphine visibly blanched at this. "By the Gods," she murmured, "this is worse than I thought."

She stood up and restlessly paced. "If their very leader is the one responsible for resurrecting the dragons...that means that he has the means to resurrect his entire army and bring back the Dragon Wars..."

She swore. "Damn it! The dragons are coming back to life through the means of Alduin's maw and I may be the last surviving member of the Blades order, the order devoted to dragonslaying!"

Ralof frowned. "What did you need me for, Delphine?"

She paused, and glanced back at him. "We need to find the Dragonborn, Ralof," she said, eventually. "Before we do anything else, we have to find the Dragonborn. He's the only one who can help us, and all of Tamriel, now."

Ralof stiffened, and he looked away.

"She won't be able to help us," he said.

Delphine frowned. "What are you talking about? You've seen the Dragonborn?"

"She was at Helgen," said Ralof, fighting back the rising waves of nostalgia. Delphine, her face drawn, sat back down on the bed to listen. "Her name was Ja'kira," Ralof went on. "And she..."

But Delphine interrupted, sounding confused. "Ja'kira?" she echoed. "That's not a Nord name."

"She wasn't a Nord."

"That's odd...the Dragonborns of legend have been Nordic..."

"She wasn't this time. She was Khajiit."

"Khajiit?" Delphine looked skeptical. "Honestly? The Dragonborn of legend...a Khajiit?"

"I know that she was the one!" snapped Ralof, his patience thinning, the image of Ja'kira's burned body appearing in his mind, and her final, desperate scream ringing in his ears. "Alduin was the one who killed her. He called her 'Dovahkiin', and it means 'Dragonborn' when translated from the dragon language."

Delphine bit her lip. She looked slightly worried, but also skeptical.

"Are you sure that Alduin wasn't...mistaken?"

Ralof snorted. He could hardly imagine Alduin, the Nordic God of Destruction, being mistaken about anything.

"I'm pretty sure," he said. "Because really strange things started happening after her death..." In a dull voice he explained to Delphine about the Alternate Certainties he had been experiencing, seeing Ja'kira absorb a power from the Word Wall in Bleak Falls Barrow, her absorbing a dragon's soul, being summoned by the Greybeards as she returned to Whiterun...

Delphine listened, and slowly, her face grew paler.

"It's everything the legends described," she murmured, when Ralof had finished. "All the rumours of what the Dragonborn could do...I sense that you aren't lying, Ralof..." Slowly, she shook her head. "By the Gods...what happens now? The Dragonborn, our saviour, is dead. Who is left to stand against the dragons?"

Ralof was quiet, trying wildly to think of something, of anything, that could possibly hope to stand against the dragons as they returned.

But he thought of nothing.

"I don't know," he responded quietly, in all honesty.

He and Delphine were quiet for a long time.

But eventually, as Ralof made to leave, remembering that even if the world was to end, he still had a duty to do, Delphine said, "We can try and delay them, however."

Ralof paused, glancing back at her. "What?"

She rose to her feet. A strange, distant thoughtfulness had lit up her eyes. "The dragons," she said. "My predecessors began their existence as renowned dragonslayers." Her frown deepened. "And if we are all to die soon enough, with the return of the World-Eater, then we can leave as renowned dragonslayers."

Ralof turned to her. "What do you propose?"

"You have some talent in killing dragons," Delphine said. "You know how to kill them."

Ralof half-turned away. "Not permanently." He remembered the dark, grim promise that Mirmulnir had made to him, moments before he had ended his life.

"But long enough to make some impact." Delphine was starting to grow excited—Ralof could hear it creeping into her voice. "I've been tracking the movements of the most recently disturbed burial sites, and I think that I might be closing in on the next one to be resurrected."

"How do you know?" asked Ralof.

"The dates. My predecessors recorded the day that they killed each of the dragons they buried and imprisoned in their tombs. It was also imprinted on the Dragonstone. I went to the oldest site, the one that contained the bones of the dragon, Mirmulnir—empty. And you killed him just under a week ago. I went to the second-oldest. It, too, was empty. The third was, too—I visited the fifth and the sixth ones which were located nearby, but they hadn't been disturbed. I think Alduin is resurrecting his lieutenants from the oldest dragon slain to the most recent. And if my presumption is correct, then it won't be long before he moves to the seventh tomb."

Ralof was impressed, despite his misgivings. "What about the fifth and sixth tombs?"

"I'm certain that by the time we reach them, even if we set off today, they'll be empty." Delphine was frowning in memory. "I'll have to check my recorded notes. We'll have to be careful in planning how to reach these burial sites."

"But what do you hope to accomplish there?" asked Ralof. "I'm not Dragonborn; you're not Dragonborn; we'll most likely end up just getting killed by a resurrected dragon."

"There has to be some secret as to how to defeat these creatures," said Delphine, almost in frustration. "The Gods surely haven't forsaken us like this!"

"They might have. We might have to live with it."

"But you know what was meant to have happened. The Dragonborn was meant to have _lived_. She was meant to have killed Alduin. She was meant to have walked the path of her destiny." Delphine was resuming her pacing again. "These Alternate Certainties sound very powerful. I'll have to get in touch with Farengar again to discuss the matters. But listen, Ralof...why I called you here is because I'm starting to grow desperate. The dragons are coming back and they're being resurrected by the day. I may be a Blade, but I haven't killed a single dragon in my lifetime. In fact, the only demonic creature I've ever killed in my life was a Frost Atronach that invaded the Temple when it still stood."

Her eyes flashed back to Ralof. "But you've killed a dragon. You have some level of experience, whether you want to admit it or not. You've given me hope. Somehow, I think we can try and work something out as to how to counter the dragon crisis."

"But it's impossible, without a Dragonborn," said Ralof.

"People said that the Oblivion Crisis was also impossible, and yet over and over again, the Champion of Cyrodiil walked into the arms of hell and returned, unscathed. Single-handedly bringing about the destruction of the Mythic Dawn and the protection of the entirety of Tamriel. I know that it seems bad now. It might even be set, like the Dragonborn's broken path."

Delphine frowned. "I know that we can't talk in great detail now. You have to be on your way to Whiterun. You're a Stormcloak—I keep forgetting now. You have duties to attend to. But, Ralof—I'll need to get in contact with you again soon."

Ralof sighed. "Do what you must, Delphine," he said, resigned, straightening. "But I have business I need to attend to. I'm late enough to Whiterun as it is."

He was about to leave the room when he heard Delphine snap, almost angrily after him, "God damn it, you're just the same as the next man, Stormcloak! All you think and care about is the war effort! All you care about is victory or Sovngarde, as is the Nord way! The dragons are rising and nobody can stand against them, and even if the whole world is going to die, you still want to fight in a pointless war? What will happen if there is no longer a world to fight for? What will you do then, Ralof?"

A heavy silence descended. Uncomfortable.

After a moment, Delphine said quietly, "Forgive me."

"No need," Ralof muttered. He glanced back at her. "You think I haven't thought about how I've failed Ja'kira, Delphine? She saved my life in Helgen. The dragons...we both know that without a Dragonborn left to stand against the dragons, the world is destined to die..."

"I know," said Delphine, rising to her feet. "But this war seems so pointless. What good could come of this?" She sighed. "I lived through the Great War, Ralof. I saw the horrors it brought. I watched as Cloud Ruler Temple was destroyed. Lives taking lives, blood spilling blood, loyalties torn...it's ruined countless men."

Ralof frowned. "It won't ruin me." _Not as long as I remember what I am fighting for._

"They all said the same." Delphine turned away, but not before Ralof saw the loss written over her face. "And they were always the first to die. Take care of yourself, Ralof. Your family...they need you."

Ralof sensed something a little deeper behind the words...but he didn't ask. He nodded, and left.

But he sensed that he had left something behind, too. That, or something new had come into his possession. Some deeper, inner feeling, a strange mixture between rage and grief, hands scrabbling at something he sensed was nearby, but was not there to be grasped. Or was not his to grasp.

* * *

_A/N: And yea...that last paragraph just popped up and I hadn't the heart to remove it. Weird, I know, but that's what Ralof was feeling._

_If anyone's still puzzled as to why Delphine told Ralof that she was a Blade so quickly, because one, she knew Ralof for most of her life, and two, she knew that he was a Stormcloak and hated the Thalmor enormously, and so they were basically allies on that note._

_OK, this might be a good time to say that don't wait around, updates are probably going to be sloooooooow... (that's what comes of having three stories open at once). But I'll try to make the waits worth it, 'k? If you're not satisfied, tell me what you want to see more of. If you want action, it's coming around the next chapter, as well as a few other people we might know._

_I'm motivated again! Yaay! So maybe the next chapter will be up sooner than this update was. Anyways, read and review as always, lovely readers. Also, a few side notes - if anybody has not yet taken the poll, please take the poll, and if anybody hasn't yet read my oneshots First Impressions and Sisters-in-Crime, I'd really, really appreciate it if when you have a spare moment, you could take a peek and tell me what you think. Shout is Out._


	10. The Return

_A/N: Hi, folks! I won't waste any time - apologies for the delay, as usual - so onward with the tale!_

* * *

_CHAPTER TEN: THE RETURN_

The moment that Ralof stepped into Whiterun, he realized that something was wrong.

Everyone appeared to be in an uproar. Children weren't running in the streets, laughing and playing as they did so. Nobody was speaking to one another, and staying close to their homes. The streets were near deserted, and the guardsmen were moving around in pairs.

Ralof frowned, and moved forward, his chainmail gently clinking, to intercept a passing patrol. "What's going on?"

"You haven't heard?" one guardsman asked incredulously, as he turned around. "A dragon's been sighted at the watchtower, yet again."

"You're joking." A sudden cold feeling dropped into Ralof's stomach.

"I'm not." The guard turned fully around, while his companion lingered nervously nearby. "The place is smashed to rubble now. So quickly and silently...the dragon must've come in the dead of night. But many guards have disappeared, the ones who were at the watchtower last night, and they're thought dead. Early this morning, some guards went to investigate and they saw a huge black creature, something out of a nightmare, circling overhead, and witnessed it flying away towards the west."

Ralof's spirits dropped even lower, particularly as he heard the next part.

"The body of that dragon that was killed about a week ago was still there, at the foot of the watchtower. Irileth was about to organize the body to be transported by cart up to the palace, but this morning, the body were gone."

"Not good." That could only mean one thing. "Did anyone get a good look at the black dragon?"

"Delgar did. Said that the monster was covered in spikes, all over. Huge black wings, enormous spiked tail. He even claimed that he got close enough to see the creature's face, and he's positive that it had one red eye."

"Shit."

The guard looked at Ralof, probably frowning a little beneath his helmet. "Wait...don't I know you from somewhere?"

"Probably." This wasn't good. Ralof felt a shudder of fear crawl down his spine. _Mirmulnir..._ "I have to speak to the Jarl," he muttered aloud, and before the guards could call him back, he was heading swiftly up through Whiterun, nearly running in his haste to get to the imposing structure of Dragonsreach.

By the time he reached the doors, he was starting to grow a little breathless—he wasn't quite used to running around in his heavier bear-chainmail armour. He said briskly to the guard who stood, arms folded, outside the doors to Dragonsreach, "Let me pass. I have urgent news for the Jarl."

The guard was silent for a moment, before he commented, "Which Jarl? Ours, or yours?"

It struck Ralof. "Jarl Ulfric is still here?"

"In conference about the dragon sighting," confirmed the guard. "And they've strictly asked for no visitors."

"They may make an exception for me. I know what happened to the bones of Mirmulnir and who the dragon sighted there was."

The guard paused for a moment, before he commented, slightly disbelieving, "Hold a moment...Ralof, right?"

Ralof paused. "Who are you?"

"It's me—Sibjorn, remember? We fought at the watchtower a week ago..."

Ralof's eyes cleared with some level of recognition. "How are you?" he asked, deciding to spare at least some amount of friendship. He had, after all, saved the man's life at the watchtower. That made them friends, of a sort, right?

"I'm well. And I hear that the Stormcloak forces are moving swifty already, even though Ulfric arrived in Whiterun only yesterday morn." Sibjorn unfolded his arms. "He was meant to have left today, but after the dragon sighting, he decided to stay and discuss matters with the Jarl, now that Whiterun is Stormcloak territory." He sounded a touch disdainful about this, and Ralof guessed that Sibjorn had been one of those Nords who weren't so overly-keen to accept Ulfric's leadership.

Ralof said nothing concerning this particular matter. Instead, he said, "Sibjorn, please let me pass."

Sibjorn sighed. "Fine," he said, stepping away. "Mainly because it's you, Ralof, and because you appear to wear Stormcloak general armour now, and you may have some level of reason for interrupting a meeting between Jarls."

"I suppose future Thanes can, at any rate, if you aren't too happy with me barging in a Stormcloak," Ralof suggested, gesturing to the axe of Whiterun, a symbol of the future position of office he would hold, presuming he would survive the war, before he slipped past Sibjorn and entered the palace of Dragonsreach.

The moment he set foot inside, he was greated with the distant drone of concerned voices beyond. Ralof was aware how strangely quiet it seemed to be. The enormous palace was so empty of the general sounds, save for a Jarl's voice steadily rumbling, a faint noise swiftly swallowed up by the hugging background. His footsteps, as he leveled the wooden stairs, seemed to echo.

He saw, beyond the mighty golden fire that sat in the centre of the hall of Dragonsreach, several figures, all whom he recognized. One was Jarl Balgruuf, sitting upright on his throne, leaning forward, his face frowning. Irileth stood on one side, and Proventus Avenicci on the other. The Jarl's brother, Hrongar, stood near Irileth, arms folded. Ulfric Stormcloak stood before the throne, and Ralof saw two Stormcloak guards standing discreetly off to one side, leaning against some nearby pillaring outside Farengar's office.

The said court mage of Whiterun was also in the discussion, and to Ralof's surprise, so was Wuunferth. Ralof hadn't been expecting the old court mage of Windhelm to have made the journey with his Jarl. He felt briefly uncomfortable at intruding on such business, but he couldn't back out now—Jarl Balgruuf had noticed him, and now, as his gaze flicked up, so had the rest.

Under the questioning gaze of Ulfric Stormcloak, Ralof was inclined to bow, and he placed a fist over his heart. "My Jarl," he greeted, before straightening and heading around the fire. "I'm sorry to intrude on the meeting," he added more formally to the gathered people. "I heard about the dragon sighting at the western watchtower and I have news."

Immediately Proventus scowled. "These matters do not concern you, Stormcloak," he said curtly.

Before Ralof could irritably respond to the Imperial, Jarl Balgruuf interrupted him. "This may concern him more than you'd realize, Avenicci," he instructed, and he turned his attention to Ralof. "So what do you believe you have to report about the incident, Ralof?"

"But this is outrageous!" Proventus burst out. "This is a matter that concerns the Jarls and the court of Whiterun!"

Ralof threw him a glare, but the Jarl said sternly, "Proventus! Show a little respect for the court's future Thane." He turned back to Ralof and said, "Go on."

Nodding his thanks, and feeling a touch satisfied with Proventus's sudden speechlessness, he explained quickly, aware that Farengar and Irileth were in particular watching him closely, "The black dragon that was sighted at the watchtower this morning...I'm certain that it was Alduin." Shock rippled around the group, but Farengar simply scowled.

"I thought as much, given the description," he said. "But why was the World-Eater present at all?"

"This is grim news indeed," Wuunferth agreed somberly.

"I think the World-Eater had a reason for being at the tower," Ralof added, stifling another flash of fear as he spoke, aware that all the attention was being heavily trained on him now.

Irileth frowned. "Was it something to do with the dragon that you killed, Ralof?"

"Mirmulnir? I'm positive. I've recently learned that Alduin is resurrecting the dragons." Another collective wince as Ralof spoke the World-Eater's name, but he ignored it and went on. "He's using some kind of ancient power to bring the dragons back. He's resurrecting his minions from their tombs so they can cause havoc across Skyrim—essentially rekindling the old Dragon Wars. Mirmulnir, before he died, stated that he would return, that his death was only temporary. If Alduin—" Wince "—went to the watchtower, then only one thing could have happened. Mirmulnir has been resurrected, and has escaped alongside his master." _And most likely, going to seek revenge on the one who killed him..._the very thought made Ralof's skin crawl.

"Hard to believe that such magic is even possible," Irileth frowned.

Farengar pouted. "If _only_ I had the chance to study the body! I would've learned so much about the dragons, I'm certain of it!"

"But how can the World-Eater resurrect the dead at all?" Jarl Ulfric demanded, sounding confused and cautious himself. His deep voice rang around Dragonsreach's chambers. "When something's dead, something's dead!"

"Dragons, to my belief," Farengar put in quickly, "No—to my _knowledge_—are not just ordinary creatures. I mean, they don't all simply die, and then they're dead. Dragons are creatures who are thought to be the children of Akatosh, and so therefore, when they die, they don't move into the next world as we would. I'm certain that the World-Eater has some kind of great power in him—he is, of course, the harbinger of the end times—that he's using to bring back the dragons, in reference to this factor they're children of Akatosh. Quite essentially, he's turning back _time_ to bring the dragons back to life."

He frowned. "My clients have reported seeing dragon burial sites broken, smashed and empty of bones."

"Talos save us," murmured Hrongar softly.

"Where would the Dragonborn have played into this?" Jarl Ulfric asked quietly of Farengar.

The Nord wizard looked surprised that he had personally been asked on a matter that for so long, had been mocked and joked as false studies. Then, he quickly replied, humbled, "Well—Nordic legend goes that the Dragonborn was the greatest dragonslayer. He—well, in this case, _she_—would have the power to absorb the souls of the dragons when they died."

A moody silence fell, until at last Ralof said, "So the dragons can be killed—but they'll only be brought back to life, unmatched by a Dragonborn to absorb their souls?"

When silence reigned after his words, Jarl Balgruuf said in frustration, "There must be a way to defend the city against these monsters, for good!"

"The only way we'll be able to truly be safe is to destroy the one causing all these deaths," Hrongar frowned.

"It was the Dragonborn's destiny to kill the World-Eater," said Jarl Ulfric. "Without one, where does that leave us?"

"It's simple—it leaves us at the mercy of the Nordic God of Destruction," Irileth said heavily. "And we're going to have to fend for ourselves until the day dawns when we're...well, we're going to..." She fell silent.

"Wait a moment..." Ralof's eyes had drifted to the huge mounted skull above the Jarl's head. "That's the skull of Numinex, right?"

The Jarl of Whiterun glanced up at it. "Aye," he affirmed. "The dragon that Olaf One-Eye trapped in the palace. What about it?"

"I'm just wondering...what happened to the rest of Numinex's body?"

"Nobody knows. Some say that Olaf used the bones to forge his weapons and armour, though that's myth—he always used steel." Jarl Balgruuf suddenly frowned. "Wait—the stories say that he had the bones buried with him in his cairn when he died. In someplace called Dead Men's Respite, which is somewhere up in Hjaalmarch. Why?"

"You think that Alduin would try to resurrect even Numinex?" Hrongar sounded stunned at the very possibility.

"No, it's...I'm just wondering how he would be able to, if Numinex's head is so far from his body." Ralof glanced back at Farengar. "Do you know if a skeleton has to be complete in order for a body to come back to life?"

The possibility rung around the room. Farengar paused, looking partially amazed at the very option. "Well...I haven't looked _into_ it," he said carefully. "But...well, it's certainly a very intriguing possibility..."

"Are you suggesting," said Irileth to Ralof, "that Alduin can't resurrect his minions—if the skeleton isn't complete?"

"I...I guess so," Ralof said, uncertainly, aware that several of the members of Whtierun court, as well as Ulfric, were looking at him thoughtfully.

"This theory should be put into test," Jarl Balgruuf decided. "Though there's no telling a dragon may attack Whiterun Hold again, we'll have to find out somehow if there really is a way of making sure these dragons can be put down for good—without the need of a Dragonborn." There was the slightest amount of hope in the Jarl's voice that made Ralof feel more uncomfortable still, at the thought that his theory, however odd it was, might be proved incorrect.

"I like the way you think, Stormblade," Jarl Ulfric added. Ralof shot his leader a glance, a small amount of pride working its way beside the discomfort. He dipped his head politely to his Jarl.

"You are dismissed," said the Jarl to his court. "Go back to your duties. We will discuss more on the matter in the future." His eyes turned to Ralof, and he said, "You wait. You had another reason for coming here, I'm sure."

"Yes, my Jarl," Ralof answered, as Proventus, Hrongar, Irileth and the two court wizards moved away. Jarl Ulfric waited as well, and speaking to the both of them, Ralof informed them that Helgen had been captured by Stormcloak forces, and a trade supply was needed to aid in the reconstruction and fortifying of the former Imperial outpost.

"My own supplies are scarce at this time," Jarl Balgruuf mused, "but I'll see what I can do—Whiterun has many farms around the city, and now they will take part in the war effort, accordingly."

"You took over Helgen with just twenty-five men?" Jarl Ulfric raised the corner of his brow. "You have a good tactician's mind, Ralof—you fit well as a Stormblade of my armies."

"But I've also come to ask for aid," Ralof continued. "Stormcloak forces are low. We lost several men in the attack and we cannot march on the remainder of Falkreath Hold while we remain in this state. I wondered if there would be any men and women who would be willing to join our cause."

Jarl Balgruuf frowned thoughtfully for a moment.

"There are many mercenaries in the city," he said at last. "And perhaps the Gray-Manes will be able to assist in the rebuilding of your army. I cannot spare many men—I will send what aid I can. I'll put up posters and direct them to...Helgen, yes? And I'll have Irileth arrange a cohort of guardsmen to make their way up to the city. Most likely, they'll reach it by nightfall."

"Thank you—"

"What about the Companions?" Jarl Ulfric interjected. "Are they going to take a part in this war as well?"

"I doubt it," Jarl Balgruuf responded. "They're a guild of warriors, but their Harbinger informd me recently that they won't take part in the war effort. It's their intentions to stay neutral—"

"Maybe that needs to change," Jarl Ulfric frowned. "We need every willing blade. Send messages to Rorikstead as well—see if any farmers' sons are willing to take up arms."

"Farmers' sons, my Jarl?"

"They'll be strong, if inexperienced in the art of swordplay—and to my memory, survivors of the Great War also preside over Rorikstead," Jarl Ulfric reasoned. "If they're willing, they can join with the Stormcloaks. You and Enja will be responsible for their training."

"My Jarl—"

"If they don't have what it takes, feel free to tell them to walk."

Ralof nodded. "My Jarl."

He looked back at Jarl Balgruuf and dipped his head. "Thank you. Your support will be appreciated."

* * *

"Well, you took a while."

Ralof looked up at the sky, already streaked with the colours of sunset. "But it's worth it, I promise you," he informed Enja, as he slid off Kira's back and handed the reins to a nearby Stormcloak soldier. "Has all been quiet here?"

"Reconstruction has begun—but it'll be a long process," Enja admitted, turning with a sigh to look out over the ruins of Helgen. Ralof followed her gaze—he could see that a bit of scaffolding had been set up here and there, and barricades were being made, and the roads were slowly but surely being cleared. The two other horses were being put to work hauling rubble off the roads, and he wondered if Kira would be subject to similar labour.

"But forget the keep—how did your talking go?"

Ralof frowned. "Gerdur will send up wood whenever she's able," he said. "We'll have shipments of building supplies within the week, I'm sure of it."

"But not just wood, I hope?"

"Don't worry, I've spoken to the Jarl—he's promised to send aid, and try to recruit as many to our cause as possible. A cohort of guards are making their way up to Helgen as we speak."

Enja softly breathed out. "Ah, good. And you reported our success directly to Jarl Ulfric? Got a message back from Galmar at the Palace of the Kings—said that Ulfric was still in Dragonsreach this morning."

"That he was. Mirmulnir has been resurrected."

Enja frowned quizzically. "Mer-mull-nir?" she repeated. "Remind me...?"

"The dragon I killed not too long ago at the western watchtower in Whiterun."

Enja paled. "What? He's alive again? How?"

"Alduin," Ralof responded grimly. "Gave Mirmulnir life again. Now I'm starting to wonder when he's going to come for me. He promised revenge when he was reborn—I was a fool to not heed his words." Absently his hand stroked the edges of the Axe of Whiterun, the axe that had first tasted Mirmulnir's blood, and prayed that the time of fighting wouldn't come again too soon.

"General Enja!" Both Stormblades looked up as a young Stormcloak hurried towards them, looking alarmed. "Lucius says he's out of healing potions," the lad said breathlessly.

"Bugger," stated Enja.

"The supplies are coming soon," Ralof promised them. "Whiterun has a talented alchemist. I'm certain that potions are on their way as well as supplies, weapons and men."

Enja narrowed her eyes. "I hope that you're right, Ralof. We aren't going to be able to hold this outpost if we don't get more muscle."

Dismissing the Stormcloak lad, Ralof fell into step beside Enja as they took a circuit around the ruins of Helgen. "Have the Imperials been giving us trouble already?"

"No—fortunately, it seems as though they've drawn back to protect Falkreath and what territory of Falkreath Hold they have left," answered Enja. "But it won't be long—we're halfway into taking this place and General Tullius is most likely on edge, particularly with the fast developments we've been sweeping through. Now we have a rogue dragon to add to our worries and Lucius is out of healing supplies...this day is just getting better and better."

"And the prisoners?"

"Taken and kept under guard in the prisons beneath the keep—well, what's left of the keep, anyway. But the prisons are still accessable."

Ralof scowled in dislike. He could remember going down there—and finding two of his comrades locked in arms against two Imperial torturers. The place stank of blood and decay—skeletons and bodies lay freely in the cells and hanging from roof cages. The torturers themselves were fairly merciless, overrun by a skinny man in a hood and a large brute of an assistant.

"So what's the plan of reconstructing Helgen?" Ralof asked.

Enja sighed. "A long and tiresome road, my friend—that's what. But, the first plan of action is to fortify the gates. That's the most important thing, in case those Imperial bastards decide to give us the drop in the dead of night. Let the boys catch up on their rest—it'll help if we have fresh men for the job, too. Hard to believe we attacked this place only two nights ago. Then, start building up Helgen again." She looked around. "The dragon certainly was pretty thorough. It'll help if the men actually have beds to sleep in again and a roof over their heads that doesn't swish at the slightest gust of wind."

"Wonder if there are any carpenters in Whiterun..."

"Doubt it. The community's made up of soldiers and farmers, and the odd innkeeper or two."

There was an almighty crash from nearby that interrupted their conversation, and both Enja and Ralof whipped around. Some scaffolding had collapsed and a Stormcloak was trapped beneath it, and he was screaming. Immediately they ran towards him, getting there before any of the other Stormcloaks. Grasping the collapsed wooden beams, Ralof heaved, lifting them up long enough for Enja to seize the trapped man by his shoulders and pull him out from beneath the wreckage.

"My legs! My legs!"

"Lucius!" Enja roared.

"Get back," Ralof told the other Stormcloaks, who were starting to gather around, looking alarmed and afraid for their injured comrade. "It won't help if you don't give the man some space to breathe."

Lucius was there in an instant, and swore when he saw the state of the Stormcloak's legs. Ralof himself felt nauseous, and when the Breton healer snapped at him and Enja to get out of the way, he gladly did so. Quickly Lucius knelt down beside the injured Stormcloak and whispering softly to himself, pressed his hands on the broken legs. Golden light eminated from his fingertips, wrapping strands of yellow around the whimpering soldier's legs. The Stormcloak's whimpers died away.

"Shit," muttered Enja. "That's another man down."

"The scaffolding was flimsy," Ralof noted.

"It had to be built up in the blink of an eye to hold up part of the walls—Gods-damn it, we're too stretched to think properly." Enja scowled as she and Ralof uneasily headed away, leaving Lucius to tend to the injured Stormcloak. "Now there are hardly enough men here to hold the outpost, let alone defend it if we're attacked."

"What I think we need more is rest—all of us. They're tired, that's all."

Enja sighed. "I don't mean to push them so hard. I'll let half the camp sleep tonight. The ones who still have a clear head and straight legs can do sentry duty."

"I'll take watch," Ralof offered immediately.

"Knew you were going to say that."

Ralof frowned. "While _you_ rest."

Enja looked up. "I still have a clear head."

"Enja, I can tell that you haven't slept in a long time. Trust me. And the Stormcloaks still need their hard-nosed woman to look out for them."

Enja managed a small smile. "I close my eyes, they'll fall apart without a woman's sense to look out for them."

"Well, I might not be a woman, but I have a bit of sense, don't I? I can manage the men for one night."

Enja contemplated this. Eventually, she nodded and said, "Wake me at dawn—or whenever, if you can't manage them. Being a commander is a lot tougher than you'd think."

"I think I can manage it," Ralof replied. Enja headed towards her tent—Ralof could see that she was relieved to be heading to her own bedroll.

But then he felt the weight of responsibility fall on his shoulders. Ralof felt himself hesitating. Being promoted straight from a general footsoldier to a commander of the forces of Falkreath Hold had left him, he realized, with a lot of inexperience commanding others. He knew he hadn't been nearly as certain or as confident as Enja had been when they had attacked Helgen two nights ago. With a small, resigned sigh, he braced himself for a night of managing a small Stormcloak garrison.

Almost immediately, as he headed towards the eastern entrance, he heard running footsteps behind him. He looked around.

"General Ralof, we've finished fortifying the west gates. The Imperials won't be able to get through us there very easily. What's our next plan of action?"

Ralof hesitated. What still needed to be done again?

_Fortify the gates,_ he told himself. _All of them. We can't be certain where the Imperials are going to attack from._

"Are the north gates completely garrisoned?" Ralof asked, remembering how he had seen several Stormcloak soldiers working on deadly-looking barricades as he rode up from Riverwood back towards the Stormcloak outpost.

"Aye, General."

"Have the east gates been fortified?"

The Stormcloak man frowned slightly in puzzlement. "The...the east gates, General? Why would we need to garrison them? It faces straight into Stormcloak territory—"

"Look, anything can happen," Ralof told him. "Bandits, wild animals, desperate men, a surprise ambush—make sure all the gates are fortified, and don't leave it unguarded or slack in duties. It may face into our territory but that doesn't make it safe. If it were a wall, I wouldn't care less."

The Stormcloak nodded. "General," he said, and walked away.

"General Ralof!" Ralof turned around at the mention of his name to see another Stormcloak soldier approaching him—and one he recognized as well.

"Enard, status report?" Ralof inquired immediately.

Enard was prompt. He dipped his head and said, "Koraldar's legs are in a bad way. Lucius thinks he might be crippled for life if he doesn't get potions and supplies right away."

"They're on their way," Ralof said, hoping that they would come soon and Lucius would be able to prevent Koraldar from becoming a lame man. "How are our food supplies holding out?"

"We're low—we'll have enough to last our men another few days, but then that'll be it."

"Julfreid?"

"He's set up well and proper now. Tempering armour and weapons for us in the tower, but he's running out of supplies, too. Lots of the supplies he uncovered in the keep were of poor quality." Enard frowned, concerned himself. "We have plenty of wood, thanks to the nearby forest, but we're too tired really to do anything with it."

"Replace the soldiers on watch," instructed Ralof. "And tell them to get some food and rest—you too, Enard. You look dead on your feet. Construction can be called to a halt for the day." Above, it was twilight, and Masser and Secunda were rising above the peak of the Throat of the World.

Enard looked relieved as he moved off. Ralof moved throughout the ruins of Helgen for a moment, passing the word around and helping in the changing of shifts, but when he saw that the Stormcloaks were doing perfectly fine on their own, he decided to turn his attention to the weary horses. Gathering an armful of hay, he went to place it in their trough, noticing that they had been left somewhat neglected as the other Stormcloak soldiers moved around through the outpost, garrisoning here and there.

Dumping the hay in the trough, he watched as they converged hungrily on it. Helgen was sparse of any vegetation and they weren't permitted outside the walls to graze. Kira paused in her eating and gave Ralof a friendly nudge, nickering softly, urging for affection. Absently he stroked her muzzle and she half-closed her eyes in delight.

It wasn't until a few hours later, when night had really fallen and Ralof was making his way towards the nearest wall to start his own sentry duties, when he suddenly heard one of the Stormcloak soldier watching the south gate shout, "General Ralof! Whiterun forces have arrived!"

Ralof immediately proceeded to the south walls, and climbing up so he was beside the Stormcloak who had attracted his attention, looked out over the small expanse of icy tundra. Sure enough, he could hear the sounds of booted feet marching, and there was the glow of torches visible in the night.

"Open the gates!" Ralof commanded, as he headed down to greet them.

Soon the gates creaked open and Ralof, donning his bear-helm, proceeded out through the barricades.

He saw that heading the small platoon of Whiterun was none other than Irileth herself. She was clad in her familiar leather armour, and a long blade rested at her side, with a large light-iron shield strapped to her back. But walking at her side was another woman, dressed in Nordic steel with her dark hair twisted back into braids.

"Housecarl Irileth," Ralof greeted the Dunmer. "Glad you could make it."

"General Stormblade," Irileth answered. "You'll be glad to know that the Jarl was able to spare twenty guardsmen for the Stormcloaks—as well as one of his court who was willing to head to battle earlier than the rest of Whiterun."

She nodded at the woman, who dipped her head briefly to Ralof and introduced herself. "Name's Lydia, milord," she said.

Ralof dipped his head to her. "A pleasure to meet you," he said. "Come, we must find places for you to pitch your—"

It was at that moment that a deafening roar split the air—one that sent shivers down Ralof's spine.

Worse still, he recognized it.

"Dragon," he whispered, half to himself.

But this was a call he had heard before.

He and Irileth shared a grim, confirming glance, but Ralof fought to quell the rising fear that was swirling in the pit of his stomach.

"What was that?" Lydia sounded anxious, her eyes darting nervously at the sky.

"Not good. Get inside the keep, all of you—and for mercy's sake, put out those torches!"

* * *

_A/N: And there we have it. Next time, Mirmulnir will probably be coming into the big picture...man, I'm just LOVING this rivalry between him and Ralof! Check out my profile for news about stuff...I'll be posting news there on a steady basis, probably. I can't wait to get all the Helgen stuff out of the way (I bet you guys are a bit sick of a day in the life of ruined Helgen by now) and start Ralof on the Dragonborn's path but this is some necessary benefits...hopefully a dragon attack next time will keep people's interest piqued!_


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